


Barefoot in Blue Jeans

by indiaalphawhiskey



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Au Pair Harry, Football Player Liam, Football Player Louis, Football Player Niall, Kid Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiaalphawhiskey/pseuds/indiaalphawhiskey
Summary: AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.





	Barefoot in Blue Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to:  
> [@tempolarriefix](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/) for all the wonderful beta-ing, encouragement, and brainstorming,  
> [@suddenclarityharry](https://suddenclarityharry.tumblr.com) for inviting me to do this and for all the kind words and awesome cheerleading,  
> and [@iamasphodelknox](https://iamasphodelknox.tumblr.com) for bouncing off ideas with me late into the evening, and pushing me to finish this!  
> You guys are the best!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com)! Would love to know what you think!
> 
> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).

 

Louis Tomlinson had come to regret many things in his relatively short twenty-seven years. He regretted that time he tried to make Lottie drink from a dirty puddle (age: eight; result: three weeks of grounding during summer holidays). He really regretted convincing Niall and Liam to try Drunk Snowboarding with him (age: fifteen; result: left leg broken in four places). And he _really, really_ regretted uttering the words “Bugger off!” to his mother (age: eighteen; result: would rather not say).

But when his one-night stand had shown up at his doorstep, nine months pregnant and utterly hysterical, saying she couldn’t, she just _couldn’t_ take care of this child, now or ever – Louis had thought surely – _surely_ the result of this would top his list.

It turns out, he was wrong.

Caspian Christopher Tomlinson had entered the world six (“Nearly _seven_ , dad.”) years ago on June 28th, and Louis was absolutely _certain_ nothing better would happen to him, ever again.

His son was the _light of his life_.

Which is what he tried valiantly to remember now, as he stared at the mess in his front hall.

Louis bent down to a squat, his duffle thumping thickly against the floor. He picked up one of approximately twenty dirt clods strewn across the polished wood, blades of grass scattered all over the staircase like some low-budget version of Hansel and Gretel.

He quietly examined the mess, ears perking as he heard voices behind him.

“I thought you said he wouldn’t be home until dark?!” His son hissed, high and childlike. He tried to fight down a smile – Cappie never did get the hang of whispering.

“Just _be cool,_ Cap.” A deep rumble answered. “We can handle this.”

He whirled around at that, lips pursed and a reprimand at the tip of his tongue. But the sight that greeted him nearly made him choke with laughter.

Two pairs of comically guilty eyes stared back at him, his son’s baby blues half hidden by the long, denim-clad leg he was hugging defensively.

“Hi, dad!” Cappie squeaked, waving tentatively.

“Hi, Louis!” Harry echoed, trying in vain to hide a very tall broom behind his back. “You’re home early!” He finished, wincing slightly as the false excitement seeped through his voice.

“I know.” Louis agreed, making a show of fiddling with the dirt clod in his hand. “What I _don’t_ know is why I’ve come home to half a football field in my front hall. Which of you would like to tell me?” He asked, quirking his eyebrow at them.

He watched amusedly as Cappie eyed his au pair with unmasked distress.

“Well…” Cappie started. “What had happened was that… I…”

“We, um…” Harry coughed, gesturing nervously in the air. “That is to say, Cappie – _he_ – learned all about archeology in school today. Yaaay!” He finished, pasting on a smile and making a half-hearted cheering motion with his arm.

“Ah,” Louis sighed, understanding dawning on him.

Cappie nodded his head furiously, his sandy fringe falling adorably into his eyes. “Yeah! And Miss Norman – she showed us pictures of ar-ar-key—“

“Archeological sites,” Harry supplied kindly, carding Cappie’s hair back with his fingers.

“Yeah, that.” Cappie agreed. Overcome with excitement, he seemed to forget the context of the situation, letting go of Harry’s leg and gesturing wildly in amazement. “Did you know there are people who spend their whole lives – their _whole lives_ – digging for dinosaur bones and buried treasure? Isn’t that so _cool_?”

“Mm-hmm…” Louis hummed, the corners of his lips already turned upward. “So, you just _had_ to turn our garden into an expedition site, did you?”

“Obviously.” Cappie shrugged, like it was the only logical thing to do. “There could’ve been bones under there, dad. _Dinosaur bones!_ ” His blue eyes were shimmering with newfound interest and imagination, both palms open in an effort to highlight the gravity of what he was saying, lest Louis not understand.

“Uh-huh. And were there?” Louis humored him.

“No,” Cappie sighed, his little forehead knitted in thought. “Harry said most of the sites with the really special stuff aren’t here in London.” He explained. Harry looked meaningfully at Louis, as if to say ‘See? I tried.’

Louis nodded knowingly at him, their silent conversation interrupted by Cappie’s spirited conclusion.

“But I _had_ to check, dad. Because you never know, right? We could be living on top of the greatest discovery ever!” The intensity of his own thought seemed to shock him, his eyes suddenly sparkling with magic. And really, how could anyone argue with that?

Louis’ chuckle finally escaped him then, and he squatted back down to Cappie’s height, extending his arms for a hug. The little boy thumped happily against his chest as Louis kissed his hair.

“You’re right, monkey.” He agreed. “My clever, clever monkey.” He breathed into the top of his head.

He looked up to see Harry smiling fondly at Cappie’s back before he threw a contrite look at Louis.

“Sorry.” He mouthed silently, shrugging apologetically and gesturing at the mess behind them.

Louis chuckled, shaking his head gently. “It’s okay.” He mouthed, waving off Harry’s apology, and cuddling Cappie closer.

For the second time that afternoon, Cappie interrupted their silent conversation.

“Dad?” He started, peering up at his father with the sweetest, blue eyes Louis had ever seen. He loved those eyes so much.

“Yeah, buddy?” Louis asked, smiling at his son lovingly and pushing his fringe off of his face.

Cappie’s sniffed his shirt, scrunching his little nose in disgust. “You kind of reek.” He announced, catching Louis completely off guard. “You didn’t shower at the stadium, did you?”

Louis gaped at the accusing look in Cappie’s eyes, trying his best to swallow the bubbling giggles rising up his throat.

Harry, apparently, wasn’t trying hard enough. He let out a healthy snort, quickly trying to cover the sound with a cough when Louis raised an eyebrow back at him. He held his hands up in surrender, but couldn’t seem to fight the way his lips were turning up at the corners.

Louis stuck his tongue out at him, before turning back to Cappie.

“Alright, Rude-y McRudolf,” He snarked, mirroring his son’s cheeky smile. “You don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses either. Baths for both of us!” He proclaimed, steering a giggling Cappie up the stairs by his shoulders. “Cheeky little bugger.” He mumbled.

He heard Harry snort again in response, and turned to wink at him over his shoulder, before bounding up the stairs and around the corner.

 

\---

 

Later that evening, Louis hummed some nameless tune as he hopped down his surprisingly clean staircase. The air in the house was cozy and warm, and something smelled absolutely delicious. He crossed the hallway, following his nose to the kitchen entrance, before leaning against the doorframe.

“Indiana Jones is bathed and in bed!” He crowed triumphantly. “And I only have one wet spot on my t-shirt.” He announced, pulling the aforementioned spot away from where it was sticking to his stomach awkwardly.

Harry turned around then, cropped curls falling into his eyes as he chuckled, setting a plate of vegetables down on the kitchen island. “How many stories?” He asked, raising his eyebrow at Louis challengingly.

“Two.” Louis announced proudly, flashing the number with his fingers before pumping a fist in the air.

“What?!” Harry squawked, playfully affronted. “He asked for _four_ that night you were in Manchester!” He punctuated the sentence with a full pout, forehead creased in defeat.

Louis made a show of shaking his head, tsking disappointedly as he slid into the bar stool in front of the kitchen island. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, Harry,” He started solemnly. “But I think my kid is _playing_ you.” He whispered conspiratorially.

“I realize that, thank you,” Harry answered, deadpan. Louis tried to bite down on a giggle at the flat look Harry gave him. “In my defense, though,” Harry argued, tone bordering on helpless. “The kid is too cute for his own good. His puppy eyes are proper debilitating.”

Louis shook his head once more, reaching over the kitchen island to grab a piece of buttered carrot. “They can sense _weakness.”_ He said gravely, before popping the carrot into his mouth and moaning obscenely. “Oh my god, what are these _made of_? Is there pot in these, H? I promise I won’t get angry, I just want to know.”

“Louis, I do _not_ lace your son’s vegetables with weed.”

Louis shrugged. “I honestly don’t think I’d be upset if you did.” He admitted, grinning cheekily at Harry. “Back to the cuteness, though,” He continued, leaning forward on the counter. “I wonder _where_ Cappie gets it?” He scrunched his brow and looked side to side, pretending to think long and hard.

Harry leveled him with an unimpressed stare, and Louis was sure that, had his hands not been encased in giant oven mitts, Harry would have thrown a roasted potato at him.

“I certainly _don’t know_ where he gets his humility.” He shot back, straight-faced.

That startled a bark of laughter out from Louis, making him cackle and his shoulders shake.

Harry stuck his tongue out playfully, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the oven to pull out the roasted chicken while he waited for Louis to calm down.

He finally got a hold of himself as Harry slid the serving dish in front of him neatly, the smell of perfectly cooked chicken seducing Louis’ senses.

“I honestly don’t know how I ever lived without you.” He said easily, sticking his nose right above the roast.

It was a statement he had uttered often enough in the last three years for it to be extremely normal.

He said it when Harry first covered Cappie’s bedtime because Louis couldn’t get home early enough from a press function. He said it again when Harry tipped him off about the Captain America shield Cappie wanted for Christmas (he had refused to write to Santa that year because “Santa just knows, dad.”). And he said it again _and again_ whenever he’d come home to find his and Cappie’s favorite dinner – chocolate chip pancakes – warm and inviting on the kitchen counter.

All things considered, Louis should probably have that sentence tattooed on his forearm, he realized, chuckling to himself.

“Mm.” Harry hummed in response, slipping off the oven mitts and placing them on the counter beside him. He pulled at the strings of the floral apron he was wearing, folding it in a neat square before putting it on top of the mitts.

Idly, Louis noticed that Harry seemed to be dressed rather nicely today.

Not that that was an unusual occurrence.

In the last three years, Louis had gotten used to the startling amount of patterns Harry seemed to own, and his penchant for statement footwear. There didn’t seem to be a novelty boot on Earth that hadn’t found its way onto Harry Styles’ foot.

It was then that Louis noticed there was only one place setting on the island.

“Not joining me for dinner?” He asked, peering at Harry curiously and cataloguing his clothing for the first time that night.

He was dressed in a black, sheer button up, his tattoos peeking out subtly from where the thin fabric was left open on his chest. His shirt was half-tucked into slim, black denim that encased his long legs, his feet bare on the kitchen floor because they never wore shoes in the house.

He looked up to find Harry standing with his hip cocked against the kitchen counter, fishing his assortment of rings out of his pocket and slipping them on one by one as he regarded Louis apologetically.

“Oh, I made plans tonight,” He admitted, face a little guilty. “I forgot to ask if you needed me. I’m sorry.”

“H, it’s nine in the evening on a Thursday night.” It was Louis’ turn to look at him straight-faced. “You’re off the clock, you don’t _need_ my permission.”

“You’re sure?” Harry asked, his face still marred by apprehension.

Louis rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh my god, go!” He said, jumping down from the barstool and marching Harry straight out of the kitchen.

Harry laughed, turning around to face Louis as he continued to advance on him. “Wait, wait – I have to get my shoes!” He giggled, catching Louis by the biceps and holding him steady a few steps away from the shoe rack by the door. He grabbed a pair of sleek black boots, and plopped them down on the floor next to him.

With one hand on the doorframe, he gingerly slipped one foot and then another, into his footwear, narrowly avoiding braining himself several times.

“Your coordination really leaves a lot to be desired.” Louis commented offhandedly, catching Harry by the elbow before he tipped too far to the left. “And also, are your boots Saint Laurent? How much am I paying you?”

Harry laughed brightly, his head thrown back and his hand flat on his stomach. He shook his head and grinned at Louis, his left dimple carved deeply into his cheek. “Hey, can’t live without me, right?” He joked, throwing Louis a cheeky wink before slipping into the night with a wave.

 

\---

 

The day Louis Tomlinson decided to hire an au pair, he honestly had no idea what he was getting himself into.

 

_…_

_“Cuppa?” Liam asked, while simultaneously handing Louis his favorite red mug._

_“Thanks.” Louis answered, accepting it and slipping his fingers through the handle. He crossed the narrow space of the kitchen, to the farthest cupboard, and lifted himself onto his toes to reach for his stash of Yorkshire._

_“I don’t know why you insist on keeping it there,” Liam mused, rolling his eyes. “It’s always so hard for you to reach.”_

_Louis leveled his friend with a stony look. “I am perfectly capable of keeping my tea on the top shelf.” He snapped, just as the box came tumbling onto the counter, the packets scattering on the white marble. “See what you did?” Louis said, quirking his eyebrow at him._

_Liam held his arms up in surrender before turning away to fill the kettle with water._

_For a moment, the only sounds that filled the house were the faucet and the white noise of the television set, a sports commentary buzzing through the speakers, Niall attentively glued to the screen. They had just come back from Arsenal’s away game in Liverpool, and Cappie was down for the count, napping soundly in his room after one-too-many hotdogs._

_Louis took a deep breath, steeling himself before he broke the silence. “I spoke to Cappie’s teacher the other day,” He hedged, cautious. “At the PTA meeting.”_

_“An’?” Niall asked, not bothering to move his head. “What’d she say about ‘im? He’s going to be a rocket scientist, isn’t he? Are they signing him up for a gifted students’ class? ‘Cause, I dunno if I want all that pressure on Cap, Tommo – he’s only four.”_

_Liam scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ni.” He punctuated this with an eye roll at Louis, who was just about to agree that a gifted class for four-year-olds was unheard of, when Liam cut him off._

_“Cap’s going to be a world renowned artist, obviously.” He proclaimed confidently. “Did you see that finger painting he made the other day? Got talent coming out of his ears, that one.”_

_“Yer jus’ saying that because it had you in it.” Niall called over his shoulder._

_“And you’re just cross that he didn’t paint you.” Liam shot back._

_Louis chuckled, quietly rolling his eyes at the now-familiar battle of the godfathers. His friends were completely ridiculous sometimes, and ridiculously in love with their godson, always. He realized fondly that this little ragtag family was more than he could have ever asked for._

_“I’m going to be his favorite, Payno, you just watch.” Niall countered, pulling Louis’ thoughts back to the room. “He’ll be able to drink ye under the table before he hits puberty.”_

_“God, I should hope so.” Louis chimed in. “Payno’s a lightweight – I’d be extremely disappointed if Cappie couldn’t take him.”_

_Liam’s head whipped in Louis’ direction, his lips pouted and forehead creased. “Piss off, I am_ not _!” He shoved Louis playfully on the shoulder, which caused Louis to shove him back, and before long, all three of them were laughing raucously on the floor, one on top of the other._

_Louis laughed, legs crossed under himself, and Niall’s head on his lap. “Great examples, we are.” He chuckled, carding his fingers lazily through Niall’s hair. “Play wrestling well into our twenties.”_

_“Eh, just make him watch the news or something.” Niall answered unbothered, shifting to his side and looking like he was about to take a nap right there on the floor._

_“Yeah.” Liam chimed in from his place opposite them, back resting on the kitchen island. “Maturity can be learned… I think.”_

_“Also, who said I was_ playing _?” Niall scoffed jokingly._

_Louis and Liam snickered, Louis resting his head on the cupboard he was leaning on._

_Comfortable silence fell between them, and he suddenly remembered what they had been discussing before all the horseplay. His heart began to grow heavy at the thought, and taking another deep breath, he blew out the statement quickly – like ripping off a Band-Aid._

_“Cappie’s teacher said he’s been having a hard time making friends.” He admitted, eyes on his lap and fingers fidgeting. “She thinks it’s because I keep pulling him out when we have away games – says the absences make it hard for him to form stable friendships with the other kids.”_

_Niall sat up quickly, then, raising his eyebrows. “That’s not really a thing, is it?” He asked, incredulous._

_Louis chuckled humorlessly, looking up to find both his best friends eyeing him with matching worried expressions._

_“Apparently it is.” He sighed, shrugging. “I mean, it makes sense. Cap never talks about other kids, never asks to have anyone over. He always looks so sad after school, but whenever I ask him about it, he shrugs it off…” Louis trailed off, eyes focusing on a blank spot behind Liam’s head._

_How could he not have noticed?_

_“What… what does she want you to do?” Liam asked, brow furrowed in concern._

_And here was the part that he was dreading – the thought that made Louis’ heart clench. “She wants me to consider… hiring help. To watch over him and stuff, instead of taking him on the road with me.”_

_“What, like leave him? With a stranger?” Niall practically gasped, eyes wide. “Is she insane?”_

_“To be fair, I think they’re called ‘nannies’, Ni.” Louis laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Au pairs, even.”_

_“I’m not leavin’ my godson with some eejit teenager, on the reg!” He made frantic slashing motions in the air with his hands, shaking his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. No. Uh-uh. Veto.”_

_“I have to agree with Niall.” Liam chimed in, seeming to surprise even himself with that statement. The look on his face had Louis biting down on a giggle. “I don’t like the thought of Cappie not being with us.” He continued, thoughtfully. “What if he gets sick, or it’s an emergency, or something?”_

_“Yes, exactly. Thank you, Payno.” Niall agreed, pointing passionately at him. “Besides, what does Cappie need friends for ‘f he’s got us?” He added with a pout._

_The funniest thing was that Niall was dead serious._

_Louis couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “Look, lads – I don’t like it either, okay? But we have to think about it long term.” He looked back and forth between his friends, eyes wide and earnest. “We can’t keep pulling him out for every Arsenal game from now until he’s twenty one –“_

_“Why not?” Niall asked, genuinely confused. Louis ignored him._

_“Both his godfathers are on the road with me,” He continued, ticking off reasons on his fingers. “Lottie’s in and out of the city for work all the time, both sets of twins are too young, and Dan lives, like, four hours away. We haven’t really got a lot of options.”_

_Louis saw his friends weighing the facts in their heads, debating with themselves quietly on his kitchen floor, wracking their brains for a solution. He had done the same thing three days ago when the teacher first brought it up, and still hadn’t been able to come up with anything._

_Finally, Liam sighed dejectedly. “You’re right, Lou.”_

_With the way Niall was frowning at his lap, it looked like he had come to a similar conclusion. “It still sucks.” He added._

_Louis sighed, too. “It does – he loves watching us play.”_

_“Look, we have to do this right though,” Liam said, swiftly getting down to business. “We need interviews, and resumes, and stuff. We need to make sure we’re leaving Cap with someone qualified – CPR training, the works.”_

_“Yeah, yeah!” Niall agreed, excitedly. “We could do it like X-Factor or American Idol – three yeses or no dice.”_

_Louis threw his boys a half smile, his heart already growing lighter little by little. “Yeah, okay. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?”_

_…_

_Three weeks, twelve resumes, and five interviews later and they hadn’t found zilch._

_“Why didn’t we like the one…” Liam gestured at his invisible long hair. “The one with the pink hair?”_

_“The one texting on her phone the whole interview?” Niall asked, sarcastically. “Or the other one that called Cappie ‘Cameron’ like, four times?”_

_“Oh, right – the Cameron one.” Liam mumbled, brow furrowed as he wrote a giant, red slash on the resume that was laid out on the dining table._

_“I think that other one was angling for your number, actually, Ni.” Louis quipped, chuckling as he tossed a plush football into the air. He was seated on the floor with his back to the wall, exhausted from failed interview after failed interview._

_Niall laughed humorlessly, but didn’t comment otherwise._

_It had been quite a long day, the pressure of finding the right person to care for Cappie weighing especially heavy due to the three away games scheduled in the next few weeks. He had promised Cappie’s teacher that he’d hire someone before the month was over, and she had made it clear that she was looking forward to his perfect attendance._

_“That was the last of the lot.” Liam announced, dejectedly arranging the crossed out resumes before dumping them pointedly into the bin with a frown._

_“We’re so fucked.” Louis’ moan was muffled from where he had buried his face in his knees. “Cappie’s going to have to come on the road with us forever, he’ll never have any friends, he’ll grow up resenting me, and then he’ll have me placed in a home at forty-five so he’ll never have to see his sad excuse for a father ever again.”_

_He paused for a couple of seconds, waiting for the reassurances to rain on him._

_“You never did grow out of your inner drama queen.” Niall observed instead, shrugging off-handedly. Louis’ plush football hit his temple with a muffled thump._

_Louis only felt slightly better._

_“We_ may _have one more candidate.” Liam interjected, biting on his thumbnail. “Zayn said his roommate was looking for a part-time job while he finishes uni.”_

_At that, Louis popped his head up, peering curiously at Liam._

_“Zayn?” Niall asked confusedly._

_“Hold on,” Louis cut in, quirking his eyebrow and smiling slyly. “Is that the fit ice cream guy you’re always chatting up when you take Cappie out for a sundae?”_

_He watched Liam’s cheeks go faintly pink, his eyes darting around the room in an effort to avoid eye contact. “Can we get back to the point?”_

_“Oh my God, it is!” Niall hooted, jumping up from his place at the dining table. “I knew you had a crush on him! You’ve totally been using Cappie as a wingman, haven’t you?” He crowed, pointing an accusing finger in Liam’s direction._

_“I have been doing no such thing!” Liam sputtered, ears red and face guilty. “He’s the one who keeps asking to go there! He said it’s his favorite!”_

_Louis and Niall exchanged a smug look between them, and then turned their wolfish smiles on Liam._

_“A likely story.” Louis crooned, as Niall waggled his eyebrows suggestively._

_Liam rolled his eyes at them, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “So his roommate –“ He continued, skimming over_ who’s _roommate, specifically, though the knowing looks mirrored on his friends’ faces said they wouldn’t be forgetting quite as quickly. “He’s studying Early Childhood Education and needs a part time job while he finishes his thesis. He’s also Red Cross certified in first aid.”_

_And that all sounded great – impressive, actually – except…_

_“He?” Louis asked, a little confused. “You want Cappie to have a man for a nanny?”_

_“A ‘manny’?” Niall chimed in, giggling to himself. He missed the glare Liam threw at him entirely._

_“Louis, c’mon. Don’t be sexist.” Liam chided, turning back to his friend. “He sounds pretty perfect.”_

_“I’m not being sexist!” Louis squawked, indignant. “I’m just_ saying _, it already takes all three of us to keep Cappie alive. Adding another guy into the mix doesn’t leave me feeling very confident.”_

_“If you leave your son with Niall, your standards aren’t that high.” Liam said, straight-faced._

_That gave Louis pause._

_“Fair enough.” He agreed with a nod, drowning out Niall’s affronted ‘Heeeey!’. And because any option was better than none at all, Louis added, “Do you think he could come in for an interview, tomorrow?”_

_“I’ll ask.” Liam said, hand darting quickly into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He began to text furiously less than a second later, a small smile on his lips._

_“Zayn.” Niall mouthed silently, batting his eyelashes at Louis as Louis tried to stifle the new on-set of giggles._

_…_

_When three, gentle knocks rang through the house the next afternoon, the boys got into position._

_Liam strode confidently to the door, chest puffed and face professional, while Niall trudged to the TV, begrudgingly shutting off his game of FIFA._

_Louis headed to the dining table with his head down and his phone in his hand, scrolling listlessly through Instagram._

_He didn’t look up until Liam’s voice cut into the white noise of the room._

_“Lads, this is Harry.” He announced evenly._

_The first thing Louis’ eyes landed on were a pair of scuffed, brown boots, tilted ever so slightly towards each other. They were attached, it seemed, to infinitely long, lean legs wrapped in blue denim, and a broad torso sporting a plain white shirt that had definitely seen better days – a motley array of unrecognizable tattoos just visible through the worn fabric._

_It was then that Louis realized what it might’ve looked like – this long appraisal of a complete stranger – and so, after schooling his curious expression into something more neutral, he snapped his head up quickly._

_Pale green eyes, pink cheeks, and bouncy, chestnut curls._

_“Hello, Mr. Tomlinson.” Harry greeted, voice slow, and meandering, eyes alight with sincerity. He leaned forward, his large palm extended. “I’m Harry Styles.”_

_The smile he threw at Louis was bright and almost blinding, and was punctuated by one, sweet dimple on each cheek._

_He looked young, Louis mused; young enough to still have a curfew, too young to have that many tattoos, and way too young to be watching Louis’ four year old._

_He tried to refrain from raising his eyebrow as he looked at Liam behind Harry’s shoulder, his apprehension already barely concealed._

_Just give him a chance, Liam’s eyes urged silently._

_Louis nodded curtly and, if Harry noticed the exchange, he didn’t say anything._

_Louis placed his palm in Harry’s, giving him one firm shake. “Hi Harry,” He answered, smiling easily. “I’m Louis, and this is Niall.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, motioning to his friend._

_Harry’s eyes, already bright and expressive, seemed to sparkle earnestly. “Oh, I definitely know who you are.” He admitted, grinning widely. “I’m a really big fan. Excellent game in Liverpool last week, by the way – smashing win!”_

_Louis was just about to nod and offer his thanks when he heard Harry take a sharp breath, his eyes widening suddenly in horror._

_“Oh, I…” He put his palms up in the air, shaking them back and forth defensively. “I didn’t mean to – I’m not, like, here to stalk you or anything –“_

_It took a moment for Louis to register what Harry was implying, and by then Niall had laughed, pushing past Louis to slip his arm around Harry’s shoulders._

_“Relax, mate.” He said, Irish accent thick and friendly as he lead Harry toward the dining table like they had been friends for years. “We’d be seriously offended if ye didn’t know who we were.”_

_Harry let out a nervous chuckle, crouching low enough for them to walk in step comfortably as Liam and Louis followed behind._

_When everyone had finally been seated and Harry had been offered tea or coffee (“Tea please, black if that’s alright?” – which was really the only acceptable answer), Liam began the interview, tone kind and gentle._

_“So, Harry, why don’t you tell us about yourself, and why you want this job.”_

_In true Liam fashion, he’d actually gone out of his way to print interview questions – a very professional-looking sheet of paper placed directly in front of each of them – and his was the only one rustling as he picked it up and peered at the top._

_Louis tried not to snort._

_“Oh, alright.” Harry began, clearing his throat and visibly straightening from across them. “I’m Harry Styles. I’m twenty-one, and originally from Cheshire. I moved to London for uni and I’m completing my degree in Early Childhood Education. I’m in my final year, and as part of my thesis, I’ve been encouraged to gain hands-on experience working with young kids.”_

_“Mm-hmm.” Liam hummed thoughtfully. “And you’re trained in first aid, right?”_

_“Yes,” Harry nodded, taking a sip of his tea. “I’ve a copy ‘f my Red Cross certificate if you want to see it.”_

_“That’s great, yeah, but –“ Niall cut in, face serious. “Are you now, or have you ever been a Man U fan? Because we just can’t have that kind of drama in an Arsenal household.”_

_Harry blinked, clearly surprised, before letting out a giggle he couldn’t suppress. Louis thwacked Niall on the head playfully, rolling his eyes and chuckling._

_“Be serious.” Liam frowned, crossing his arms over his chest._

_“I am!” Niall defended, blue eyes wide. “We can’t have some Manc pedaling propaganda to our godson behind our backs! How are you not concerned about this, Payno?”_

_“How do you know the word ‘propaganda’?” Louis teased, smirking. “Did ya swallow Cap’s dictionary the other day?”_

_Niall smiled triumphantly at Louis. “It was on me word-of-the-day app. Been trying to slip it into conversation since this mornin’.”_

_Louis chuckled and nodded approvingly. “Very smooth transition.” He praised with a pat to Niall’s shoulder._

_Liam sighed, heavy and embarrassed, turning back to Harry apologetically. “Kindly ignore them. Believe it or not, they’re_ not _who we’re hiring you for.”_

_Harry chuckled, and Louis saw the way his shoulders seemed to relax, some of his earlier formality loosening. “I have to admit – I have rooted for Man U in my younger days, however,” He grinned, raising his hand in a pledge sign. “I’ve been an Arsenal convert for going on five years, and I do not plan to switch anytime soon.”_

_Louis eyed Niall, watching his face going from somber to sunny in a nanosecond. “There’s a good lad! Honest. I like it.” He decided, leaning back into his chair. “You’re hired!”_

_“Or, I don’t know,” Louis interrupted, shrugging sarcastically. “Maybe Cappie’s_ actual _father could say something, first?”_

_“Oh right.” Liam said, grinning sheepishly._

_“Floor’s yours, Tommo.” Niall agreed with a cheeky smile._

_Louis rolled his eyes. “Thanks ever so much.”_

_He turned, then, to face Harry. He could see Harry’s hands clasped under the table, could almost imagine him fiddling with his fingers nervously._

_Good. Louis thought to himself. Nerves are good. They mean he wants to make a good impression._

_He tried his best to school his expression into something more genuine and open, determined to give Harry a fair chance. Finding someone to care for your child would never be easy, he realized, and Louis had every right to be apprehensive. But Harry was already far exceeding the bar that had been set for him by the previous applicants, and Louis had to be appreciative of that and not scare him away._

_“Why nanny-ing?” He asked, genuinely curious. “You have an Education degree. Why not teach at a preschool or something? It’ll look better on your resume.”_

_Harry smiled to himself then, soft and open, as if it was a question he would truly enjoy answering. He looked up, straight at Louis, eyes intense and focused._

_“I suppose it’s because I prefer forming friendships with the kids I work with.” He admitted easily. “Schools are wonderful, and my goal is to become a teacher, eventually. But six months is hardly enough time to get to know each and every child in a class personally, so I feel like the experience would be mainly surface-level.” He shifted in his chair a little, leaning forward, green eyes still fixated on blue. “With your son, I’d really get to know him. I’d get to talk to him and spend time with him, and I think that would be a better way to spend my work-study.” He finished, smiling._

_And Louis didn’t know if Harry was being sincere, or if he was just charming – if these answers were genuine or something taught to him in his classes – but it was the best answer they had heard in the last three weeks, bar none. And though he was still wary of this stranger, still nervous about how he and Cappie would get along and what their dynamic would be like without Louis there, he supposed it was worth a shot._

_He looked to his left, Liam and Niall eyeing him warily, unsure if all three of them were on the same page. Louis gave them one, curt nod, before turning to Harry._

_“You’re hired.”_

_…_

 

_As it turns out, all it took for Harry to win Louis over completely was a sandwich._

_It was day five and the first weekend post Harry-hiring, and Louis and Cappie had barely walked through the front door when Cappie’s thrilled, little voice filled the hallway._

_“Harry?” He called out, high and bright, his smile reverberating off the walls. He bounded into the kitchen still wearing his backpack and coat, Louis following closely behind._

_“Hey, Captain!” Harry answered with a smile and a playful salute. He was carrying a dishtowel in one hand, and a newly dried plate in the other, setting them both down on the kitchen counter. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tomlinson.” He added, his smile one dimple short, but no less genuine._

_Louis raised his hand in a wave. “Hi Ha—“_

_“Harry, d’you know what?” Cappie asked, grinning from ear to ear, obviously unable to contain his excitement. He had climbed the tall barstool at the opposite edge of the counter, kneeling and leaning forward so he and Harry were now roughly the same height._

_And Louis would usually chastise his son for interrupting without the polite ‘excuse me’ he was meant to say, but today, it didn’t matter._

_Harry shifted his attention to Cappie almost immediately, the interest in his eyes never dimming. “What?”_

_“Ethan, from school – he invited me over to his house tomorrow! To play with his Avenger toys!” Cappie nearly screamed, blue eyes wide, sparkling in happiness and disbelief. “And dad said I could go! I told him I’d bring my Batman – the one Uncle Liam gave me for my birthday. And even if Batman isn’t an Avenger, Ethan said it was okay, because Batman’s the coolest.” He said with a carefree shrug and a toothy smile. “I’m gonna go get him, now, and put him in my backpack so I don’t forget him tomorrow!” He declared, jumping down swiftly from the barstool, his backpack bopping behind him._

_Cappie was just about to run out of the room when he pivoted quickly and ran behind the counter. Harry let out a squeak of happy surprise as Cappie tackled him by the legs and hugged him tight, his head only reaching Harry’s mid-thigh. Louis saw Harry card gentle fingers through his son’s sandy hair, smiling down at him, the care already evident in his eyes._

_“Thank you, Harry.” Cappie sighed quietly. “Love you.”_

_Louis saw Harry’s happiness balloon, his cheeks dimpling involuntarily, and the sight made warmth bloom in the bottom of Louis’ belly._

_“You’re welcome, Captain.” Harry breathed gently. And though he didn’t say ‘I love you’ back – not yet – Louis could see that he definitely did._

_Cappie threw Harry one last grin and proceeded to run swiftly out of the kitchen, little footsteps echoing as he dashed up the staircase._

_“Caspian C. Tomlinson!” Louis called over his shoulder, his stern voice made a lot less effective by the grin he couldn’t seem to shake. “You’re not to be running up the stairs, you hear me? And that coat better find it’s way back onto the coat rack before dinner!”_

_“Yes, dad!” The tinny voice floated down the stairs. “Love you!”_

_“Love you, too, babe!” Louis said, smiling as he walked over to the island, plopping himself down on the stool his son had vacated._

_He watched as Harry turned back towards the sink and began to dry dishes again, the curves of his cheeks still puffed up from his smile. Louis eyed his back for a few more seconds, before he broke the silence._

_“So,” He began, expression as neutral as he could make it._

_He saw Harry’s shoulders tense slightly before he spun around to face Louis, green eyes now tinged slightly with nervousness at being left alone with his boss._

_The last five days had taken some getting used to, as it usually does when sharing a space with someone new. They had been awkwardly weaving around each other in the kitchen, Harry still too uncomfortable to sit down when Louis was in the room, Louis trying his best to be as friendly and welcoming as he could to his son’s new nanny._

_Louis realized belatedly that this was their first conversation outside of pleasantries and polite instructions._

_First time for everything, he thought to himself easily._

_“So, Ethan’s mom approached me in the pick up lane, today.” He said conversationally, trying to keep his features light. Harry’s eyes assessed him warily, obviously wondering where the conversation was headed. “She wanted to invite Cap over for a play date tomorrow – absolutely had to meet the dad of the sweet boy who was sharing his lunch with her son, she said.” He tried not laugh as he saw Harry’s face change from wary to guilty. “Harry, have you been making Cappie an extra sandwich everyday to help him make friends?”_

_With the way Harry was fidgeting, you’d have thought Louis had accused him of stealing his tea packets. His eyes darted around the room, and he seemed to steel himself visibly before he launched into a garbled explanation._

_“Um, yes?” He answered, although it sounded much more like a question. “Cappie –“ Another inhale. “He came home the other day looking really sad, right? So I asked him if something was wrong, and it took a bit of prodding, but he finally told me that none of the kids at school ever ask to play with him. So, I said, ‘Well, have you tried asking them to play with you?’ and he said no, because he was too shy._

_And, I remember being that kid at school – that painfully shy kid. And, my mum would tell me ‘It’s a lot easier to start a conversation over a meal, you know?’. So, she would make me an extra sandwich everyday, to offer to whomever I wanted to talk to. And it worked –that’s how I made friends with Zayn at uni, even. So I thought Cappie should do the same. And I honestly didn’t know if it was working, but he’d come home with no leftovers so I figured, either he was making friends or he was really just that hungry – and neither was a waste of a sandwich, so I just kept making them.”_

_Harry sucked in a huge gulp of air, winded by his long explanation, and seemed to wait with bated breath for Louis’ reaction._

_Louis hummed, pretending to toss the idea back and forth in his mind. “So, you essentially taught my son to buy his friends?” He asked evenly._

_He nearly jumped out of his seat at the way Harry’s eyes widened, absolutely horrified by Louis’ assessment._

_“What?! No!” He denied, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I – that’s not – that’s not what I intended at all, Mr. Tomlinson! I was just trying to –“_

_Louis’ deep laugh finally escaped, wracking his body and making him double over. He stuck out his hand, trying to inhale between bouts of giggles as he watched Harry’s expression morph from horrified to confused._

_“I’m joking, Harry!” He chuckled, shoulders still shaking. “I’m sorry – I was just messing with you. You looked so guilty over absolutely nothing, I couldn’t help myself.”_

_Harry bit his lip, face going a little pinched and a lot skeptical, as if unsure if he was allowed to laugh with his boss._

_Louis’ finally forced his laughter to calm, unable to look at Harry tensed and uneasy for too long. He noticed the au pair was gripping at the edge of the counter, knuckles white with discomfort. He reached over, and covered Harry’s hand in his own, running his thumb over it gently, coaxing it to loosen._

_“Relax, Harry. I was just trying to break the ice.” He said, offering him a friendly smile. “I realize now, a simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed.” He added, chuckling to himself._

_Slowly, he felt Harry’s grip on the marble loosen, and saw the pinched look on his face ease. He smiled back, small and careful, too shy to grin fully. They looked at each other for another quiet moment, Louis letting go of Harry’s hand and straightening himself on the stool again. His eyes never left Harry’s face._

_“Thank you. Seriously.” He said, smiling earnestly. “Cappie’s never come home from school so happy.”_

_The corner of Harry’s lips climbed just a little higher, then, and he ducked his head bashfully. “No problem, Mr. Tomlinson.”_

_“Cool.” Louis beamed, standing. He hitched his bag onto his shoulder and walked to the kitchen entrance. As he stepped out onto the hallway, he turned and popped his head back in. “And, it’s ‘Louis.’” He corrected, winking playfully and disappearing into the other room._

_…_

 

\---

 

When Louis came home on Friday evening, it was to the familiar scent of pastries wafting from his kitchen. He left his duffle by the door and walked directly into the room, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Something smells good.” He sang, grinning as both Cappie and Harry looked up at him from their makeshift baking station on the kitchen island.

“Hi, dad!” Cappie greeted, waving the small green whisk Harry had gotten him for his fifth birthday. He was fully equipped – mini blue apron, mini blue oven mitts, and even a mini chef’s toque sitting atop his head – the marble in front of him dusted in what looked like flour and chocolate powder. “I’m making my own birthday cake!” He announced proudly. “And Harry’s only helping a little.”

“Really?” Louis said, skeptical. He quirked his eyebrow subtly at Harry, who bit his lip and chuckled quietly.

“Yup!” Cappie answered, grinning with confidence. “I mixed the ingredients _and_ poured them in the pan!” He bragged, his little chest puffing out a bit.

“And what did Harry do?” Louis asked, trying not to laugh.

“He measured.” Cappie shrugged, biting his lip thoughtfully. “And he mixed the lumps out. And he lifted the bowl while I scraped out the batter. And he’s going to put it in the oven, but only because I can’t reach it. And he’s going to decorate it when it’s done.”

“Is that all?” Louis teased, smirking as he pushed himself off of the doorframe.

“Uh-huh.” Cappie confirmed. “Come and look at it before he puts it in the oven!” He said, waving Louis over.

He strode towards them and leaned across the counter, making a show of eyeing the batter.

“Looks like a proper cake, that.” Louis praised. “Well done, babe! Did you lick the spoon?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows at his son.

Harry snorted. “Licked it clean, then nearly dipped it in again for seconds.” The light reprimand in his tone was completely ignored as Louis and Cappie grinned at each other, Louis reaching over and ruffling the toque off of his head.

“That’s my boy.” He crooned as Cappie giggled.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, lips curled into a fond smile as he wiped the counter down with a rag, swiftly depositing the mound of excess flour into the waste bin.

As he was cleaning, Cappie jumped off his stool, quickly divesting himself of the oven mitts and apron, and placing them as neatly as he could on the counter. He turned then, and threw himself at Harry, wrapping his little arms enthusiastically around his legs.

Harry chuckled, slinging one arm around Cappie’s shoulders and squeezing tightly as he grabbed onto the corner of the counter for balance. Louis watched the exchange silently, something catching in his throat as he realized his son’s head now overshot his au pair’s waist.

“Thank you for helping, H.” Cappie mumbled, face buried in Harry’s hip.

Harry crouched lower and pulled the little boy closer to him. “You’re welcome, Captain.” He whispered, smiling and planting a small kiss in his hair.

When they broke away from each other, Louis schooled his features into an exaggerated pout. “How come I didn’t get a—“ Before he could finish his complaint, Cappie had already run headlong into his arms, giggling raucously as Louis picked him up and swiftly tossed him over his shoulder.

“Haz!” Louis gasped in mock shock. “I’ve caught myself a monkey!”

Harry gasped back, green eyes comically wide. “Out here? In the wilderness of the kitchen?! Is it ticklish?”

Louis grinned maniacally. “Only one way to find out!”

Cappie’s giggles quickly turned into happy shrieks as Louis began to tickle him around the waist. “S-stop dad!”

“Harry, did you hear something?” Louis asked, feigning confusion and pretending to look side-to-side, Cappie’s upper body swaying behind him.

Harry shrugged. “Nope.” He said, popping the ‘P’ with a cheeky grin.

Louis went for another round of tickles, Cappie’s boisterous laughter bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, before he was wheezing his surrender. “Ah! Dad!” He puffed, breathless with laughter. “Stop! Stop! I surrender!”

“As you should!” Louis said, with a firm nod and a smile at Harry. “Say goodnight, bud. Time for bed.” He whirled around so that Cappie was facing Harry, still dangling by his father’s shoulder.

“Goodnight, Harry!” Cappie called, smiling and waving as Louis marched out of the room. “Love you!”

Harry giggled at the sight of them, Louis grasping Cappie firmly by the legs as he swayed from side behind him. “Love you, too, Captain! Goodnight!”

 

\---

 

Harry was still putting baking paraphernalia away when Louis entered the kitchen again, later that evening. Louis walked sneakily behind the counter and eyed the soft batter that was still in a pan on the marble. He was just about to dip his finger in and swipe a taste when he felt a hand swat him away.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Harry warned on a laugh, positioning himself between Louis and the pan, his broad body blocking the batter so completely from Louis’ sight that he had to tiptoe to sneak a peek over his shoulder.

“And why not?” Louis asked, smiling and still trying to stick his finger in mix with Harry playing defense. “Is it any good?”

“It is,” Harry hummed, the corners of his lips turned up playfully. “If you like eggshells.” He finished with a shrug, his giggles escaping at the wary look on Louis’ face. “Cap crushed, like, half an eggshell in there by accident – said it was fine if his cake was crunchy.”

It took a few seconds of blinking for Louis to register what Harry had said.

“What?!” He shrieked, his face completely horrified. “Oh my god, Haz! We can’t feed that to people on his birthday! We might slit someone’s throat open!”

Louis was not expecting the bright, full laugh spilled out of Harry’s mouth, green eyes sparkling wildly with a secret. He was gaping at him confusedly when Harry took him by the shoulders and spun him around to face an already lit oven.

“And that is why,” Harry started, big hands resting warmly on Louis’ arms. “I made another one. Exactly the same, just a little less… edgy.” He giggled again at his own joke. “Cappie’ll never have to know.”

A small smile formed on Louis’ lips. “Okay first,” Louis started, spinning around to grin at Harry. “You’re a genius.”

He miscalculated their distance a bit – they were standing so close now that Louis had to tip his head up to make contact – and suddenly, he felt something lurch in his stomach at the thought. He peered up at Harry, taken aback by how green his eyes were up close.

Had they always been that color of jade? Surely Louis would have noticed before.

He saw Harry smirk then, and it pulled him back to their conversation. Louis rested on the heels of his feet at the same time Harry leaned on the kitchen island, both moves putting a little distance between them.

“Eh, it’s what I do.” Harry said, expression exaggeratedly modest, shrugging like it was nothing.

Louis rolled his eyes.

“But,” He countered, pointing a finger accusingly at Harry. “You shouldn’t be lying to Cap. The kid thinks he’s the Mick Jagger of baking, now.”

Deep laughter burst out of Harry’s mouth and he clutched his stomach, doubling over at Louis’ phrasing. “What? The lead singer of The Rolling Pins?”

“Exactly.” Louis confirmed without missing a beat.

His eyes tracked Harry’s face, alight with laughter, and a fond smile crept in as he zeroed in on Harry’s dimples. Louis often found himself resisting the urge to crowd against him on the counter and stick his finger in them, just to see how deep they really went. He honestly didn’t think Harry would mind – they were both rather free with physical touch – but he just never got around to trying.

He should, he mused idly.

“I’m not lying to him,” Harry denied, his voice waking Louis from his dimple-induced stupor. “I just didn’t want to discourage him. It’s not like you’ve never let him have an easy goal when you play football – don’t even deny it.”

“That’s different, Haz. He’s not going to _poison_ anyone with his football skills.” Louis argued, sending Harry into another round of giggles.

“It’s just a bit of shell, Lou, no one’s going to die.” He waved off Louis’ concern. “I think.”

“Wow. That makes me feel so much better.” Louis deadpanned.

Louis walked to the row of cupboards, pulling the middle-most one open. He lifted himself on his toes and tried to feel around blindly for the glasses he was trying to grab. He was so concentrated on trying to reach what he needed that he nearly jumped in surprise when he felt the heat of Harry’s chest press up against his back.

Louis swallowed, his brain buzzing slightly at the contact as he watched Harry’s large hand take two wine glasses by the stem and set them down on the marble in front of him.

“One day,” Harry’s deep baritone felt dangerously close to his ear, and it made something unknown simmer at the bottom of Louis’ stomach. “I’m just going to move all the glasses to the bottom shelf.” He finished, and Louis could hear the teasing smirk in his voice.

Louis steeled himself, gulping in a quiet breath before he turned around. “You wouldn’t dare.” He said, narrowing his eyes at Harry jokingly.

Harry shrugged innocently, his voice mysterious. “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t.”

“Shut up and get the wine.” Louis snapped on a laugh, doing his best to recover from the sudden jolt of Harry’s touch. “You’re so ridiculous.”

Harry winked playfully, and pulled the refrigerator door open, grabbing the bottle of white from the inner shelf. He poured a generous amount into both glasses, taking his in his other hand and motioning a toast in Louis’ direction.

As they clinked glasses with small smiles Louis thought back to the day, one year into Harry’s employment, when this nightly tradition had started.

 

_…_

_It had been, by far, the roughest week of Louis’ life to date. Seriously._

_It surpassed the week before his first Arsenal tryout, when he had trained for twelve hours straight everyday, and then worked out in the Youth League gym for another eight hours. It surpassed his first week on the National team, when they had changed his entire training regimen and then doubled it. It even surpassed Louis’ first week with his newborn son, bottle-feeding a wailing child and changing nappies left and right alone._

_In fact, if there was a medal for ‘Worst Week Ever To Exist’, this one would take it, hands down, Louis thought to himself as he trudged down the stairs, eyes drooping and bones heavy._

_Everything fucking hurt, he realized – even his eyes._

_He walked mindlessly into the kitchen, shoulders hunched and back aching, and crumpled onto the barstool with a soft thud._

_“Jesus.” He moaned, leaning his elbows on the table and burying his face in his arms. “Sick kids are the worst.”_

_He heard Harry’s soft hum of agreement, muffled by the protective huddle Louis had around his head._

_“To be fair, this is the most epic virus I’ve ever seen.” Harry noted. “He’s barely slept the last three nights, and he’s thrown up everything we’ve given him to eat until this morning.”_

_Louis popped his head out of its cocoon and leaned himself on his open palm, watching as Harry stirred a steaming pot on the stove. “His fever finally broke this afternoon, though. Let’s hope it stays that way.”_

_Harry nodded as he ladled out soup from the pot and placed it in two bowls in front of him. “I just checked his temperature a minute ago – still normal. And he’s finally sleeping soundly.”_

_As he placed the delicious-smelling bowl of chicken soup in front of Louis, Louis’ mouth began to water._

_“God, Harry,” Louis groaned, taking a large whiff of the soup. “You’re amazing, I mean it. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you this week.” Louis sighed, throwing him a thankful smile._

_The past few days had been hell on them both, passing in a huge mess of barf and damp washcloths. When it became apparent that Cappie had caught the worst bug in the history of the world (yes, Louis was the king of hyperbole – sue him), Harry had decided to stay over to cook for them and take shifts watching over him so that Louis could grab at least a couple of hours of sleep. Today was the first time in four days that Cappie was fever-free, and the relief that passed between them was palpable._

_“We did good this week, Lou.” Harry said, smiling softly. “Cappie’ll be okay.”_

_Louis glanced at the wall clock. It was already nearing midnight – Cappie already asleep for going on six hours – and it was the first time he and Harry had been able to sit down and eat together without one of them having to get up and soothe a restless child._

_“We did do good, didn’t we?” Louis grinned, small but pleased. “We deserve a treat.” He decided firmly, jumping up from his seat and heading to the refrigerator. “Wine with dinner.” He proclaimed, brandishing a chilled bottle proudly._

_Harry giggled, but shook his head. “You go ahead, Lou. Cap might still need us.”_

_Louis rolled his eyes and strode forward, backing Harry slowly against the counter. “C’mon, Haz.” He pleaded, blue eyes wide and beseeching. “One glass won’t do anything. We just need to relax.”_

_As he said this, he noted that he already sounded slightly drunk with exhaustion. It really wasn’t a good idea, what with the aching bones, and their already sluggish movements, but at that moment, Louis really didn’t care. It had been a week of hell and he and Harry deserved to let loose – needed to, even._

_“Please?” He whined, widening his eyes and exaggerating his pout. The sight of him made Harry giggle._

_“Alright, alright.” He acquiesced, chuckling and biting his lip shyly._

_Louis beamed at him, triumphant, and backed away to search for the wine glasses._

_..._

 

It had been two years since then, and their ritual showed no signs of flagging. If Louis was honest with himself, this – drinking wine and joking around with Harry in his kitchen – was easily one of the highlights of his day. He pushed the thought back as quickly as it had entered, trying not to think too hard about what it meant. Instead, he shifted the conversation.

“So,” He started, dragging out the ‘o’ conspiratorially. “Where did you run off to so quickly last night? Hot date?” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly at Harry.

He saw Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the question, pupils shifting from side-to-side, as he stayed suspiciously silent.

“Oh my God!” Louis gasped, blue eyes wide. “You _were_ on a date!” He accused, pointing a finger at Harry.

Harry chuckled then, making no move to deny it, and Louis suddenly noticed a small, heavy weight settle at the bottom of his heart. He tried to ignore it – it was probably just the wine, anyway. He pushed forward, pressing teasingly. “You _never_ date, H. At least, not since I’ve known you.”

“Hey, dating is _hard_ , okay?” Harry defended with a pout. “Princes are in _really_ short supply, nowadays.”

Louis laughed at that, resting his hip on the side of the counter. “And this guy caught your eye?” He scoffed, lightly. “Let me guess – he’s a musician slash DJ _slash_ record producer.” He realized too late there was a bitter bite to his tone, something cutting and bordering on rude, and he prayed silently that Harry hadn’t noticed.

Thankfully, Harry laughed, shaking his head as he took a sip of his wine. “Professor, actually. My old thesis adviser.” He shrugged easily, but Louis caught the light flush that was now dusting his cheeks.

Louis couldn’t help the way he raised an eyebrow, lips pursed and expression untrusting. “Your professor.” He repeated, deadpan. Suddenly, he was in no mood for wine. He tried to school his features into something neutral, tried to swallow the sour taste resting on his tongue. “The one you spent countless nights locked in an office with. The person who basically held the fate of your diploma in his hands.”

Harry rolled his eyes then, unable to ignore what Louis was insinuating. “You don’t have to say it like _that_ , Lou. He wasn’t interested in me when we were working together, obviously.”

And yeah, Louis didn’t believe that for a second. He had seen Harry at twenty-one – all charming, and tanned, and doe-eyed – and unless his professor was blind as a bat, he had definitely been interested. He swallowed his comments, though, not wanting to start anything.

“Alright,” He said, trying to keep his voice even instead of tense. “And, he asked you out?”

Harry nodded, long fingers playing with the stem of the glass. “Mm-hmm. I passed by the university last Saturday, hoping to get his advice about a few Master’s programs in the city, and he asked me to have dinner with him.” He bit his lip, a wayward curl falling into his eyes.

Thankfully he pushed it away before Louis could do something stupid, like tuck it back for him.

They were staring at each other now, the air in the kitchen heavy with tension, and Louis decided to break eye contact first, turning his body so his back was resting on the kitchen island, instead of his side. “Well,” He began, shrugging tentatively. “I mean, I’m all for maturity, Haz, but a twenty year gap is a little much, don’t you think?”

Harry peered at him, confusion settling over his features. “What?” He asked, a perplexed smile curling at the corner of his lip. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” Louis shrugged easily. “I just – I didn’t think you’d be the type to date someone who was pushing fifty.” He shifted his position, turning around and leaning forward on the marble with his elbows.

He realized he sounded disapproving – clipped and curt when he had no right to be – but Harry was his _friend,_ someone he cared about. And that was as good a reason as any to be a little put out by his poor judgment.

Right?

“What? Louis, Adrian isn’t pushing fifty!” Harry laughed, incredulous. “He’s only four years older than you!”

And—oh.

“Oh,” Louis repeated aloud, biting his lip. “He’s that young, really?” He asked, turning his head to Harry in surprise. He had always imagined Harry’s thesis professor to be a stuffy, middle-aged man, with beady eyes that were magnified by his ill-shaped glasses.

 _Adrian_ sounded handsome and intelligent – the kind of man glasses would look especially distinguished on. And that should have made Louis feel better – the fact that Harry wasn’t being harassed by some old sleaze ball – but it really, really didn’t.

“Yes,” Harry said, giggling. “He only just finished his Master’s, which is why I went to him for advice.” An amused smirk settled on Harry’s lips as he explained, and Louis tried to will down the flush he could feel creeping up his cheeks.

He cleared his throat and concentrated on his hands, resting on the counter. “Um, okay, so how did the date go?” He took a long sip of wine, hoping it would hide his face long enough for him to change his features into something more nonchalant.

When Louis finally looked back at Harry, his head was ducked again, the corners of his lips fixed in a bashful smile as he chuckled to himself. “It was good.” He said vaguely. “We caught up a bit, and it was… fun.” A dimple. “He decided to adopt a little girl two years ago – Nora. She’s beautiful.” Two dimples.

Louis swallowed harshly then, his heart plummeting straight into his stomach. “Yeah?” He croaked.

Harry nodded, looking up at him. “Yeah. She’s four now, so we spent like, half an hour trading stories about her and Cappie.” He laughed, shaking his head at himself.

Louis’ head began to pound, a single thought echoing over and over again: _DidHeKissYou? DidHeKissYou? DidHeKissYou?_

“Anyway,” Harry continued, startling Louis back to the present. “She’s a bit shy – having trouble at school the way Cappie used to – so I taught him our sandwich trick.”

Harry beamed, soft and sweet, and just like that Louis’ heart fluttered into place again, _‘our’_ bouncing back and forth in his head.

 _Why am I being so weird tonight?_ He reprimanded himself sternly.

He smiled back, small and a little tight, and pushed himself off the counter, making to refill his wine glass. He turned his back to Harry as he spoke, trying to keep his voice casual. “Are… are you going to go out with him again?”

He looked over his shoulder and saw Harry watching him, green eyes tracking his movements curiously. An unnamed emotion passed across his features, but before Louis could figure out what it was, it disappeared, replaced instead by a smile that didn’t quite reach Harry’s eyes.

“I might, yeah.” He said simply, shrugging. “He invited me for a cup of coffee tomorrow but, you know. Family Football day.”

At that, Louis swiveled towards the cupboard quickly, trying his best to swallow his pleased smile.

It’s not that he was particularly happy that Harry had chosen Family Football over a date, not really – Harry was a grown man who had the right to do whatever he wanted with his Saturdays – it’s just that, you know, _Cappie_ would be extremely disappointed if they weren’t _all_ in attendance for their weekly game.

He was smiling on behalf of his son, _obviously._ Still, Harry might not understand that, so he waited to school his features into something a little more acceptable before he turned around.

“Good call.” He said with an approving nod. “I heard your team captain is a _real_ hard ass.” He smirked as Harry let out a laugh, bright and happy, his fist curled to cover his mouth.

“That he is.” Harry agreed, smiling. “All three-foot-five of him. Tell me, how does it feel to have raised football’s answer to Hitler?” He joked, planting one foot on the barstool beside him and clasping his hands together.

“Don’t look at me. I think he gets the stick in his bum from Liam.” Louis tossed back, shrugging as Harry burst into another round of raucous laughter. He held up the wine bottle, but made no move to refill Harry’s glass. “I’d offer you a second round, but I hear Caspian has _rules_ about drinking the night before a game.”

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes fondly. “Shut up and pour, Tomlinson.”

 

\---

 

Family Football had been devised from the moment Cappie was born, and implemented the minute he was old enough to run, for two reasons.

The first was, obviously, to teach Louis’ son how to play football.

Though being raised by three pro-footballers _did_ , at times, have its hiccups (paper mache art projects and bake sales were always a little tricky), the one thing Louis, Liam, and Niall could commit to was making sure Cappie was the best footballer in the under-eight division. (When he managed to do the Pelé Flick, and a full bicycle kick at four and a half, Niall nearly wept with pride.)

But the second – and more important – reason was to make sure that no matter how busy they were, Cappie would still have one day a week with all three of them, no ifs, ands, or buts. It had been decided that there was absolutely no excuse for missing out on Family Football; Niall had even enacted a no-pull policy on Friday nights because of what happened the first time Zayn and Liam had slept together (Liam had jumped out of bed in a panic, accidentally calling out ‘Love you!’ as he rushed out the door with one sock on. It had worked out though.) and the same rules applied to Harry and Zayn once Cappie invited them to join their happy little foursome.

“You lads know Family Football is only fun for _you_ , right?” Zayn groaned that Saturday, burrowing his sleepy face in Liam’s shoulder while his boyfriend half-carried him to the shade under a tall oak tree. “Harry and I are _awful_ at this. Like, legitimately terrible.”

“Yeah.” Harry agreed, his forehead creasing with his tiny frown. “Why can’t it ever be like, Family Film night or Family Fondue?” He asked, divesting himself of his phone and wallet, and tying his curls into a tiny fountain on his head.

“Forgive Harry’s whining,” Louis cut in with a chuckle. He was seated on the grass, one leg popped up as he laced his boots expertly. “He hasn’t made it through a single Saturday unscathed in three years.”

Harry glared at him, and stuck his tongue out childishly. “And _yet,_ I’m always Cappie’s first pick.” He preened happily.

Niall scoffed, rolling his eyes and hitching the football on his hip. “Don’t remind me. I mean, I _only_ spent three weeks teaching th’ kid how t’ do a Marseille turn. _Of course_ he should pick Harry first every bleedin’ time.” Niall threw his arms up in the air exasperatedly, and accidentally dropped the football.

Harry giggled.

“What can I say, my son is insanely loyal.” Louis said with a smile and a shrug. “‘ _Playground rule number one, dad –’”_ He quoted, smiling.

“‘ _You always pick your best friend first,’”_ Harry quoted back, dimples deep and smile fond.

“‘ _Even if he_ is _terrible at football.’”_ Liam, Niall, and Zayn finished, chuckling wildly as Harry’s smile fell and his forehead creased.

“Hate that part.” He frowned, planting his hands on his hips.

Just then, Cappie came running up to the group, cheeks pink and hair already sweaty. Louis had deposited him onto the playground fifteen minutes ago to keep him occupied while the other boys got ready to play. He thought it might help expel some of Cappie’s hyper energy. It didn’t.

“Hi dad!” He greeted, jumping into his father’s arms and wiggling around to face the other boys. “Have you all got your boots on? Are we ready to play?” He asked, words tumbling out in a mess, eyes wide and smile slightly manic.

Louis laughed, squeezing him tight and kissing the back of his head. “Let’s go, monkey.” He said, planting Cappie firmly on the ground and patting him twice on the bum as he ran toward their makeshift football field.

Louis dusted himself off and watched as the others jogged to catch up. He and Harry lingered behind, Harry’s face still marred by a small pout. Louis sped up a bit, falling into step behind Harry and placing both hands gently on the dip in his waist. He felt Harry startle slightly, but they both kept walking forward, Louis tiptoeing and placing his mouth just behind Harry’s ear.

“Don’t feel too bad, Haz,” He crooned, smirking playfully. “I’d pick you first, too, if Cappie would let me.”

He couldn’t be sure but he thought he felt Harry shiver then, thought he felt Harry’s sharp inhale where Louis’ chest was pressed against his back, thought he saw a glimpse of plush, pink lips caught between straight, white teeth.

The image sent a satisfied thrill up Louis’ spine, and made his stomach flutter just a little, but he had no time to wonder why. He quickened his pace and jogged towards where the boys were stretching, only pausing to shoot Harry one more playful wink over his shoulder.

 

\---

 

What was initially a very light drizzle quickly turned into The Perfect Storm the moment the boys stepped onto their makeshift field in the park, and the results were disastrous, to say the least. Zayn had started sneezing every five breaths, Harry was shivering from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, and Cappie was really more mud than boy at this point.

After forty-five minutes of slipping and sliding through the wet grass, visibility dropped to zero, and that’s when Cappie finally, _finally_ agreed to call it a morning. They said their goodbyes quickly, Liam and Zayn heading one way, Niall heading another, and Cappie, Louis, and Harry making the short run to the house, trying and failing to keep up some semblance of dryness.

Louis fumbled with the slippery keys and finally pushed the front door open with a triumphant crow. They slipped into the house quickly, shoes squelching as they toed them off by the entrance.

As Louis closed the door behind him, blocking out the sound of the heavy rain, he saw Harry make a quick beeline to the hall cupboard to pull out a small, blue towel.

It took no more than two seconds for Harry to cross back and swaddle Cappie in it, kneeling on the floor and patting the rain off Cappie’s face and hair gently.

Louis watched the droplets fall from Harry’s curls and slide steadily down the nape of his neck into his soaking wet t-shirt. His joggers – dark grey now, instead of the light grey they were this morning – also made a very impressive puddle on the floor. But Harry made no move to dry himself off, instead concentrating on rubbing warmth into Cappie’s arms with his large hands.

“You cold, Captain?” He asked, Cappie’s small frame swaying with the motion of Harry’s hands.

“N-no.” Cappie lied, teeth chattering and lips slightly blue.

Harry raised his eyebrow skeptically and smirked at Louis behind Cappie’s head.

“You sure about that, babe?” Louis asked, trying not to laugh as he saw his son visibly repress a shiver, waddling around to face his dad.

“’M f-fine.” He insisted, sipping in small breaths. “Today was s-super f-fun!”

“Mm-hmm.” Louis hummed, pulling Cappie under his arm and patting his side. “Please get in the bath before you get super ill.”

Cappie sighed begrudgingly, stepping away from his dad and trudging up the stairs, leaving droplets of rain in his wake. Louis and Harry chuckled as they watched what looked like a little, blue ghost waddle around the corner and to the bathroom.

They heard the door to the bathroom creak open, the sound of water running coming through the hallway a second later. Louis turned to Harry, eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his chest, expression expectant.

“Same goes for you.” He instructed, gesturing to the room behind Harry. “Into the guest bath.”

Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly. “I’m okay, Lou. Thank you.”

“Bullshit.” Louis accused with a smirk. “You were shaking like a leaf under the rain.”

“I’m _fine._ ” Harry insisted with a grin, running his fingers through his wet curls and pushing them off his face.

Louis shook his head.

“I don’t believe you.” He said decisively, smirking and advancing on Harry playfully.

Harry laughed as Louis swiveled him around to face the open door of the guest room, his hands resting comfortably on Harry’s waist as he marched him in.

“I can’t have you getting sick, H – Cappie and I _need_ you.” He whined, teasingly. “We _cannot_ go back to eating instant Mac ’n’ Cheese or, God forbid, Liam’s ‘cooking’.”

Harry laughed, throwing his head back a little, and exposing his neck. Louis noticed belatedly that they were so close, he could smell Harry - fresh like the rainwater dripping off his skin. Louis watched droplets slide down the nape of his neck, mesmerized at how they seemed to caress his skin gently before disappearing under the collar of his shirt. He wondered idly what it would feel like to retrace their path with his fingers, let his hands skim down Harry’s smooth back before inevitably following the droplet into the waistband of his—

“I’ll just towel off – I didn’t bring any clothes.” Harry said, startling Louis back to the present. They were right in front of the guest bathroom now, and Harry turned around to face him, putting a few much-needed inches between them as Louis struggled to recover from his inappropriate train of thought.

“I…” He started, his voice coming out a little pitchy. He cleared his throat. “I’ll lend you something.” He said, decisively.

Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’m sure _all_ your shirts would look wonderful as crop tops, Lou, but that’s not really my style.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, unable to help the smile teasing at his lips. “When did you become such a little shit?” He asked, pinching Harry’s hip.

He laughed as he tried to evade the attack, letting out a small ‘Ah!’ when he felt the pinch.

“You used to be so shy and sweet, all ‘Yes, _Mr. Tomlinson.’_ – where’s _that_ Harry, you bloody imposter?”

Harry laughed again, bright and happy. “Takes one to know one.” He said, shrugging easily.

“Get in the shower.” Louis said, smiling, leaning past Harry to push the bathroom door open. As he leaned back, he nearly went cross-eyed, their noses so close that he could count the freckles on Harry’s face.

His stomach sizzled deliciously as he eyed Harry’s slightly parted lips, warm breath soft and shallow on Louis’ cheek, and he wished, suddenly - _desperately_ \- for Harry to rise to his challenge, to smirk mischievously and say _‘Make me.’_

He didn’t.

Instead, a beat passed and Harry stepped backward, cold air coming in between them. Louis tried to quell the abrupt disappointment he felt settle in his bones as Harry smiled at him, strong and confident.

“Okay,” He agreed, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging. “But only because Liam’s cooking is _terrifying._ ”

 

\---

 

Louis walked down the stairs slowly, rubbing the water out of his hair with the towel he had hanging by his shoulders. He heard the beginning of a familiar song filter through the room, notes gentle and upbeat streaming in from the kitchen.

_Do do do do do do do, do do do._

As he reached the landing, he leaned against the doorway quietly, taking in the sight of Harry humming along behind the counter in his t-shirt.

It was oddly familiar, this scene – Harry singing as he pulled something out of the oven or washed the dishes – something he hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten used to over the course of the last three years.

Music had become an everyday thing in this house since he hired Harry, with his penchant for dancing to Walk the Moon or bopping to Fleetwood Mac in between daily chores. Cappie had developed the habit by sheer proximity - had begun singing to himself as he made his bed or picked up his toys – so much so that Louis had bought a Bluetooth speaker for Cappie and Harry (“ _Mostly_ Cappie!” Louis had defended quickly when he saw Harry frown disapprovingly at the thought of Louis spending any money on him) to take with them as they moved from room to room.

Harry stood there now, hair still wet and barefoot in Louis’ loosest blue jeans, shoulders curved as he piped white icing onto a small dome-shaped cake, lost in the chorus.

“ _What can I do to make you love me?_ ” He crooned sweetly, his baritone intertwining seamlessly with Andrea Corr’s voice. “ _What can I do to make you care?_ ”

Louis suddenly felt his pulse speed up, nervous for some unnamed reason, as Harry turned around and grabbed something out of the baking cupboard, still unaware of Louis’ presence.

“ _What can I say to make you feel this? What can I do to get you there?_ ”

The words seemed to swim swiftly through the air, and dive straight into Louis’ chest, hitting his heart and making his veins sizzle warmly.

Harry moved easily from cupboard to counter, fully immersed in what he was doing, his curls bouncing as he bopped his head to the instrumentals. There was a bit of icing on his cheek that made Louis ache with the (completely unwarranted) need to swipe it away.

The music swelled then, the chorus repeating louder, Harry’s gentle voice filling the whole kitchen and a small voice in Louis’ mind wondered - was Harry singing to _him_? Was Harry trying to tell _him_ something?

 _Don’t be ridiculous._ He chastised himself inwardly. _Harry’s_ dating _someone._ He remembered, pushing away the disappointment that seemed to be pressing in on his chest.

He pulled himself back to the present just as the song was tapering off.

“ _Love me… love me…_ ” Harry sang gently, as he assessed his work closely.

“I _do_ love you!” Cappie’s sweet little voice nearly made Louis jump out of his skin.

“Jesus Chr – “ He bit his lip to cut off the curse as he saw his son narrowing his eyes at him. They weren’t supposed to curse and one of them was obviously finding the exercise more difficult than the other (hint: it wasn’t Cappie). “ –ust? Jesus Crust.” Louis finished lamely, throwing Harry an apologetic look as Harry tried to stifle his giggle.

“That’s fifty pence in the swear jar, dad. The ‘J’ word counts for half.” Cappie said sagely. His expression brightened immediately. “I think we almost have enough to get ice cream.” He assessed, beaming.

For a moment, Louis wondered why they even had a swear jar to begin with, seeing as Cappie and Harry never _actually_ swore. It hit him then that he was being hustled into treating them to ice cream – _and_ he had walked right into it.

 _Damn it._ He huffed to himself. His son was a _genius._

“Hey Cap,” Louis started casually. “Let’s pitch the swear jar to Uncle Liam, next time, yeah?”

Cappie looked delighted at the thought, while Harry laughed from his place behind the counter, cottoning on to Louis’ idea.

He shook his head fondly before he waved Cappie towards him. “Captain, can you c’mere and tell me how you like your birthday cake, please? Is it football-y enough, d’you think?”

Louis followed his son into the kitchen and noticed the finished cake for the first time. The chocolate dome that had been sitting on a tray on the counter earlier had magically turned into a football that was wedged into grass icing, frosted blades sticking out every so often like the grass had grown uneven in certain places. Harry had even added a few frosted daisies randomly because he was clearly running for Au Pair of the Year or something.

Louis saw Cappie’s blue eyes twinkle at the sight and Louis realized with a sigh that it was going to take a miracle to stop him from dragging a finger through the frosting between today and his birthday.

“It’s perfect!” Cappie gushed, scrambling up the barstool to get a better look. “It looks _so_ good.” He continued, dragging out all the ‘o’s.

Louis shook his head fondly as he watched his son slide off the stool and tackle Harry by the legs as usual. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He said, jumping up and down.

“You’re wel–”

“I’m going to wear my kit so I look like a proper footballer when I stand next to it!” He announced excitedly, jumping away from Harry and running out of the room.

“You’re going to put on your kit _now_?” Louis asked, confused.

“Just going to make sure it’s still in my closet!” Cappie called back from his place at the top of the stairs. Louis and Harry could hear his little feet bounding towards his room.

“Oh, nope. Not there.” Louis joked. “Dog ate your kit, kid.”

“We don’t _have_ a dog, dad!”

Harry and Louis giggled at the exasperation in Cappie’s tone, Harry trying to steady his hand as he finished lettering ‘Happy 7th Birthday Cappie!’ in red on the grass.

“You’ve outdone yourself once again, H.” Louis proclaimed, sliding onto the barstool in front of the cake and leaning in for a whiff of chocolate. “Mmm. Seriously, is there anything you can’t do?” He paused and pretended to think for a moment. “Oh, that’s right - actually _play_ football.” He teased smiling mischievously.

Harry stuck out his tongue at Louis. “Alright, Beckham. Maybe next year _you_ can make his cake.” He shot back, grinning evilly. “We’ll see who’s laughing then.”

Louis mock-gasped. “You wouldn’t!” He said, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry acquiesced, nodding solemnly. “I love that kid far too much to ruin his birthday like that.” He smirked, preening at getting the last word in.

Louis laughed then, throwing his head back with the force of it. It took him a few seconds to calm down, but when he did, he leveled Harry with an impressed grin. “Well, well, well. You are getting far too sassy, Harry Styles.” He decided. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

Harry shrugged coyly, his cheeks indented with those God forsaken dimples, and Louis seriously wanted to snog that devastating smile right off his absurdly handsome face and—

_Oh._

Louis physically jolted at the thought, his eyes widening and heart pounding in panic. He quickly assessed Harry, cataloguing his movement as he bent over and fixed a few crooked flowers, completely oblivious to the freight train that had just run Louis over.

Louis sighed inwardly, relieved – he hadn’t said that part aloud, then.

“Why,” He started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and willed himself to _be cool_. “Why are you finishing that today, by the way? The party’s not until tomorrow afternoon.”

It was as if someone had pressed pause on the room. Harry’s shoulders tensed, and Louis heard him inhale sharply. There was something different in his expression now – sadness? Guilt? Louis couldn’t tell, but it made him uneasy.

“Haz?” Louis asked, peering at him confusedly. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He reached across the counter before he could think about it, covering one of Harry’s hands with his own and swiping his thumb across it, hoping to soothe him.

He watched as Harry bit his lip looking nervous and unsure, eyes seemingly seeking comfort everywhere except Louis’ face. Louis quickly reviewed the conversation, trying to spot where it had grinded to a screeching halt – and then, it hit him.

“You’re… you’re missing Cappie’s birthday.” It wasn’t a question.

Guilty green eyes met blue and Louis suddenly felt winded, like someone had thrown a football at his chest _hard._ Harry’s silence was enough confirmation, so he pushed forward.

“ _Why?_ ” He asked, tone soft but confused – almost incredulous.

Harry ducked his head to avoid Louis’ gaze and ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out his curls for something to do. Louis hadn’t seen him do that in awhile – it was a nervous tick and Harry hadn’t been nervous around him in forever.

Harry bit his lip again, eyes downcast.

“I’m sorry, Lou.” He mumbled to the counter top. “My best friend from home is getting married and he… it’s his bachelor party that night.” Harry’s voice was laced with guilt, but that didn’t ease the disappointment slowly snaking its way around Louis’ heart.

“ _Cappie’s_ your best friend.” Louis whispered, trying valiantly not to sound like a brat.

They were _adults_. There was no need to feel so bad about one missed birthday party. Cappie would have others.

_But how many more would Harry really be around for?_

The thought snuck into his head, dark, and sad, and foreboding.

It was always at the back of his mind, the reality that Harry would leave one day – walk away from this house, this _job,_ and build a life without Cappie in it. Without _Louis_ in it.

He shook the thought away for now.

 _One issue at a time._ He told himself firmly.

“Bachelor parties are… they’re at night, though.” Louis tried to work through the information quickly, _sure_ that there was a way around this somehow. “Cappie’s party is in the early afternoon. You… you can’t even swing by?” He realized there was a hint of desperation creeping into his tone, and he would have been embarrassed if not for the thought of his son being let down on his birthday.

And then, something _else_ started niggling at him – a small, insistent, poisonous thought.

 _What if Harry didn’t_ want _to be at Cappie’s birthday?_

The idea wasn’t too farfetched, one side of him reasoned. After all, what kind of devastatingly charming, twenty-four year old bachelor chose a seventh birthday over a wild night on the town with his mates?

 _Harry would._ The other half argued. _Harry would always choose Cappie._

But that clearly wasn’t true, was it?

Distantly he heard Harry mumble something about his mate wanting to do a pub-crawl back home in Cheshire – a thing they had done together as teenagers – and how he wouldn’t be able to make it in time for all the festivities if he didn’t leave on Sunday morning.

Louis nodded without really hearing anything, his mind already racing forward to what he was going to have to do.

“Okay.” Louis cut in, meeting Harry’s startled eyes blankly. “I’ll tell him you can’t come.”

Louis hadn’t realized his tone had gone cold until he saw Harry recoil slightly, his shoulders curving inwards like he was trying to protect himself from an attack.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, Lou. I…”

“S’fine.” Louis said with an easy shrug, because it _was_ fine. Or at least, it _would_ be.

In the end, it was always going to be Cappie and Louis against the world. It was best they both got used to it.

 

\---

 

Louis bade Harry goodnight early that evening, the tension between them too thick to overlook. As his foot hit the upstairs landing, he heard the front door click shut quietly, and Louis let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. The exhale didn’t make him feel any better though, his chest still heavy with the weight of his disappointment and the anxiety he felt for what he was about to do.

He took another deep breath and walked the five short steps between the staircase and Cappie’s room.

Louis leaned on the doorframe, watching fondly as his son put his toys away with a sleepy yawn. Cappie always dressed like a mini version of Louis, but it was especially true for sleepwear – tonight, it was a pair of outer space patterned boxers and a raggedy Captain America t-shirt (the Tomlinsons weren’t fans of pajama sets).

When the last pterodactyl had made its way safely into the toy chest, Louis cleared his throat.

“Ready for bed, babe?” He asked gently.

Cappie turned to face him, smiling and blinking his bright, blue eyes tiredly.

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded, hopping onto his bed and beckoning his dad inside.

Louis pushed himself off of the doorframe easily and switched off the ceiling light as he stepped through the threshold, bathing Cappie’s bedroom in the dim, yellow glow of his bedside lamp.

“Nightly checklist.” He announced. “Dinner?” He asked, smiling.

“Check!” Cappie answered, bright and happy. “Bath?” He shot back.

Louis made a show of sniffing himself. “Check.” He confirmed with a nod. “Teeth?”

“Check!” Cappie mumbled, baring his teeth for inspection as Louis leaned in to survey them. Louis nodded approvingly. “Goodnight kiss?”

Louis grinned, grabbing his son’s cheeks in his palms and peppering his face with relentless kisses.

“Ack!” Cappie shrieked, trying to wiggle free of Louis’ hold. “Check, dad! Check!”

“No, no.” Louis teased shaking his head. “You’ve got about twenty more kisses to go.”

Cappie giggled as Louis wrapped his arms around him, and planted one more solid kiss in his hair. Louis felt Cappie bury his nose into his chest before sighing, deep and content.

He looked up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer for strength, and then broke the silence. “Cap?” He asked gently. “Can we talk about something?”

Cappie popped his head out of Louis’ embrace and smiled, soft and sweet. “Sure, dad. What’s up?”

Louis loosened his arms and Cappie scooted away, giving him enough room to pull back the blankets and help him slip inside. Once he was tucked in (“I want to feel like a burrito.” He had instructed simply.), Louis cuddled him, pulling him closer by the waist.

“Babe, Harry’s not going to be able to make it to your birthday this year.” He hedged, trying to make his voice sound soothing.

It seemed to take Cappie a moment before he registered the words, baby blue eyes going from content to confused to sad, and then back to confused again.

“Why not?” He frowned, his little forehead creasing.

“Well,” Louis started, sighing. “He’s got to go home to Cheshire for a bit. Got to go see some friends, and his family.” He put some false cheer in his voice then. “But we’re still going to have _loads_ of fun, I promise! Uncle Liam and Uncle Niall will be there, and some of your friends from school…”

Cappie didn’t seem to hear him, his head moving from side to side as he formulated his thoughts. “Aren’t _we_ Harry’s family, though?”

Louis sighed. This conversation was happening then.

“No, hon.” He shook his head slowly, sadly. “We’re his friends – his very, very good friends – but not his family.” He explained, tone wary.

“Oh.”

And Louis swore he could physically feel his heart fracturing at the way Cappie’s expression changed. His son looked absolutely shattered – _worse_ than that time he found out superheroes were only make believe (the revelation had knocked off a whole slew of future career options, apparently.)

“But. But Uncle Niall said we choose our family sometimes – like Uncle Liam chose Zayn.” He said, mostly to himself, bottom lip wobbling precariously. Louis could hear Cappie’s throat clicking, his son making a brave attempt to fight back tears. “What if I _choose_ Harry? Will he come to my party _then?_ ”

Louis sighed and pulled his son closer. “It doesn’t work like that, Cap.” He blew out, each syllable chiseling another crack in his heart. “Uncle Liam and Zayn are in love. _That’s_ why they’re family – because they’re in love with each other.”

“But I tell Harry I love him all the _time!_ ” Cappie insisted, his eyes watering in frustration. Louis looked down to see his little fists curled tightly around his duvet and he felt utterly helpless in the face of what looked like his son’s first real heartbreak.

Louis ran his thumb over one of Cappie’s hands, trying to coax it to loosen gently.

He closed his eyes, unable to stand the sight of Cappie crying. He told himself inwardly that this was good – that this would prepare Cappie for the day when Harry would inevitably leave – that his son couldn’t keep his nanny forever _anyway_ and he had to understand that.

Even that reasoning felt hollow, though, and he knew there was nothing he could say – at least right now – that would make Cappie understand.

“Shh, my love.” He said instead, rocking him back and forth and sliding into the covers with him. He could feel tears dripping steadily onto his shirt as he carded his fingers through Cappie’s hair, and he knew then that he would give up all the football championships in the world if he could only make them stop.

A few beats of silence passed before Cappie spoke up again.

“What if…” Cappie sniffled, trying to stop his crying. “What if _you_ told Harry you love him, though?” Though his voice came out muffled and stuffy, his words caught Louis completely off-guard – made his breath catch and his heart pound in his ears. “Maybe… maybe _then_ we could be a family.” He whispered.

Louis swallowed, trying to make sure his voice came out steady and convincing. “It’s not that easy, babe.”

Cappie yawned wide then, and Louis almost missed the drowsy little nugget of wisdom that fell from his son’s lips.

“Why not?” He asked simply, before snuggling into Louis’ side and promptly falling asleep.

Louis lay there in the soft light, eyes wide and mind reeling. Cappie’s words echoed loudly in his head, sending shockwaves coursing through his veins.

_‘Why not?’_

There were a _million_ reasons, he was sure, and he tried to list them down in his head for something tangible to hold onto.

There was the fact that Harry was his _employee,_ and that in itself made it feel sleazy and wrong, like Louis was taking advantage of Harry – the single father and the nanny, like some kind of cheap porno.

But the more Louis thought about it, the more he was convinced it wasn’t like that at all.

Harry was so loving, so genuinely selfless towards Cappie that ‘nanny’ wasn’t _at all_ enough to encompass all he had become to their household – to their little family.

As soon as he had thought it, Louis shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself.

 _Don’t be an idiot._ He scolded mentally. _Harry’s not interested._

Of course, Louis hadn’t noticed Harry _in that way_ right off the bat. Harry had been gorgeous, no question – but _entirely_ too young when they had first met. Coupled with the fact that Louis was leaving _his child_ with this stranger, there was just no way he could have allowed himself to get lost in those curls, or those eyes, or that smile _._

But as the months passed, he and Harry got to know each other – spent some time together and managed to perfect this little tango of two not-so-strangers sharing the same space – and Louis had found himself thinking, more than once, that maybe… just _maybe this_ was the kind of man he was looking for, the kind of man he needed. So, he started flirting – a playful taunt, a wink here and there, a casual grasp of his waist.

Harry, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as _blinked_ at Louis suggestively once in the past three years. Sure, they would tease each other; break the barrier of touch more often than friends did, but other than that, nothing. Harry had never shown any intention of taking their relationship past this casual friendship – not even that time he had walked in on Louis dripping wet with only a towel draped precariously low on his waist. (I mean, _he_ would have made a move if it were Harry standing there wet, with only a glorified napkin between them. Louis was professional, but not _that_ professional.) (And yes, it was still kind of a sore spot. Louis had thought he looked pretty damn sexy that day.)

And besides, wasn’t Harry dating that guy… Adam? Andrew? He had looked proper smitten when he had told Louis about him – all soft smiles and sweet, bashful dimples. Louis rolled his eyes at the memory, annoyance bubbling hot and angry in his belly.

Why couldn’t the wanker just _buy Harry flowers_ if he wanted to get into his pants so badly? Why’d he have to go and _adopt a daughter_? Like his stupid Master’s degree wasn’t impressive _enough._

“Arse.” Louis mumbled, belligerent.

His eyes widened slightly as he felt Cappie shift in the bed, and he held his breath as his son turned and snuggled back into his pillow. Louis extracted his arm carefully, trying not to wake him. He watched the way the light hit Cappie’s sleeping face, the way it fell on the apples of his cheeks and on the tip of his little nose, and he remembered exactly _why not._

Because, what if he _did_ do this? What if he dated Harry – fell head over heels in love with him and let Cappie think they could _keep him_ – and it didn’t work out? God, Cappie would be crushed – _absolutely destroyed_ all because Louis was selfish enough to gamble his son’s happiness for a shot at his own.

Louis sighed then. He moved Cappie’s fringe off his face and placed another soft kiss on his cheek before he slid off the bed as slowly as he could.

There would be other chances in the future, he told himself - other times, other loves – other men that wouldn’t mean as much to his family as this one did, wouldn’t leave a gaping hole in their hearts if they decided to leave. The moment Cappie was born Louis had promised that his son would always, always come first – that he would make sure Cappie had everything he ever needed.

Right now, Cappie needed _Harry_.

So, it didn’t matter nearly as much that Louis needed Harry, too.

 

\---

 

The next day had followed in a whirlwind of birthday preparations. Without Harry, the boys had been swimming in a mess of streamers, balloons, and snacks, trying their absolute best to make sure everything was perfect.

Sunday morning had come and gone, and before long, they had already sung ‘Happy Birthday’, blown out the candles, and bid their guests farewell.

The party had been a rousing success, if Louis did say so himself, with only one minor hiccup – as the crowd had sung to Cappie, loud and boisterous, Louis’ and Cappie’s eyes had met and for one, brief second he saw just how disappointed his son was that it wasn’t Harry lighting his candles this year.

And then Louis had blinked and Cappie had jumped off the stool, his face covered in black and white icing, and had started asking his guests if they’d like to play a friendly game of football.

The clock had just struck four when Liam had finally pushed the door to his apartment open, piles and piles of gifts and decorations resting precariously in the arms of Louis, Niall, and Zayn.

Cappie had torn into the presents like a happy little Labrador the moment they hit the guest room floor, completely untouched by exhaustion.

It had lasted all of fifteen minutes.

Now, Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn peered curiously at Cappie’s sleeping body. His tiny arms were draped around his mountain of toys, as if protecting them even in sleep, and his cheek was resting comfortably on the stomach of an enormous teddy bear (“Seriously, Niall?” Louis had asked, completely unsurprised. “Pick a _more_ practical gift, why don’t you?”)

“Should we move him to the bed, do you think?” Zayn asked frowning. “That position can’t be good for his neck.”

“Shhh,” Liam whispered chastising, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you want to wake him?”

“I think the real question is _can_ you wake him?” Louis commented. He tiptoed around Cappie’s sleeping form, moving in close to make sure he was still breathing. “I mean, the kid fell asleep with his shoes on.”

Niall snorted and then shrugged. “Leave ‘im to rest. How often do you get to nap on a mountain of toys?”

And – okay, that was a fair point.

They nodded in agreement, Louis reaching forward and slowly pulling off his son’s shoes before they all backed out of the room quietly, closing the door behind them.

They stepped out into the hallway and trudged toward the living room, feet dragging and shoulders hunched with exhaustion.

“I’ll fix us some tea.” Liam offered, making a beeline for the kitchen.

“God,” Louis groaned, crumpling ungracefully on the sofa. “I’m beat.”

“Right?” Niall agreed, wiggling his head onto Louis’ lap and putting his feet up on the farthest armrest. “Who would’ve thought a birthday party could take this much outta yeh?” He slipped a hand under his cheek and closed his eyes. “How the hell does Harry _do_ this every year?”

Louis felt his shoulders tense slightly at the mention of Harry’s name, but he willed himself to relax. He caught Zayn eyeing him warily out of the corner of his eye.

Liam came in then, setting two steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of Louis and Niall. He turned and headed back towards the kitchen to grab the other two cups, calling out casually over his shoulder, “It’s a shame Harry couldn’t make it this year. Where is he again? It’s not like him to miss Cappie’s birthday.”

No one but Louis saw the way Zayn whipped his head up so fast that it was truly surprising it didn’t come with a _snap!_

Soft brown eyes met blue, warm and questioning, and it made sadness and unease snake into Louis’ stomach again. He threw Zayn a helpless shrug before answering.

“Cheshire.” He sighed, not bothering to turn his head. “Bachelor party or something.”

“Oh?” Came Liam’s voice, skeptical and unsure. He walked back into the living room, his features marred by a deep frown. “That was kind of crap of him, wasn’t it? Cappie was proper disappointed.”

 _Don’t I know it._ Louis thought to himself.

Louis scrubbed a tired hand down his face. He hadn’t slept well the night before, plagued by his conversation with Cappie and the thoughts it had left him with, and he really, _really_ didn’t want to talk about it.

“I think I have feelings for Harry.” He blurted out, unprompted.

Okay, so apparently he _did_ want to talk about it.

His eyes widened in shock and he slapped a hand over his mouth, belatedly realizing this was also the first time he had ever admitted it even to himself. No one else in the room so much as blinked.

A beat of silence passed before Niall opened one, bleary eye, and peered at Louis. “Oh, did you want us to do The Gasp™ like when Cap does a ‘magic’ trick? ‘Cause we can.”

“Niall, be nice.” Liam warned, his smug smirk totally betraying his sincerity. “Tommo’s only just caught up on the last three seasons of his life.”

Zayn snorted from where he had buried his head in his arms.

“Okay, does _everyone_ know?” Louis asked, throwing his hands up in the air with exasperation. And then, his eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my God, does _Cappie_ know?”

Niall pushed himself up off of Louis, and literally turned just to laugh in his face. “Does Cappie _know?_ ” He repeated, incredulously. “Lou, he’s been trying to set you two up since he was five!” He giggled then, shaking his head. “Does he know. This guy.”

“Okay, five-year-olds do _not_ wingman for their fathers.” Louis scoffed. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it, though?” Liam asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning. “He _did_ out you to Harry for no reason.”

“He didn’t _out_ me!” Louis shrieked. “Not _on purpose_!”

He watched as three pairs of arched eyebrows and unimpressed eyes stared back at him asking the exact same silent question: ‘Are you _sure?_ ’

And now that he really thought about it, he wasn’t.

 

…

_They were waiting on the barstools behind the kitchen island, the smell of chocolate chip pancakes wafting through the air. It would have made for the perfect breakfast advert – if only it were happening in the morning._

_As the sun set slowly outside the kitchen window, Harry executed another perfect pancake flip, much to Cappie’s (and Louis’) delight._

_“Can you teach_ me _how to do that, H?” Cappie asked, blue eyes wide with wonder._

_Louis chuckled at the way his son was sprawled halfway across the table, desperate to get as close as possible to the pancakes while keeping a safe distance from the stove._

_“Sure, Captain.” Harry agreed with a chuckle and a smile, sliding the last piece onto Cappie’s plate with a flourish._

_He made a show of throwing the maple syrup in twists and turns behind him like a bartender, and then slid bottle straight into Louis’ waiting hand with a cheeky wink. Louis laughed._ Harry was ridiculous _, he thought to himself._ Ridiculous and adorable _._

_Louis had barely managed to squeeze a dollop of syrup onto Cappie’s dinner before half the pancake had already been shoved in his mouth._

_“Babe, slow down!” Louis warned on a laugh. “No one’s going to take them from you!”_

_Cappie stared back at him skeptically, eyes wide and little cheeks filled to the brim with food. He looked like a blue-eyed chipmunk. “Mm-kay.” He agreed, though his fork had already speared the next one._

_Harry and Louis’ eyes met over Cappie’s head, and both couldn’t help but snort._

_Comfortable silence settled between the three of them. Cappie busied himself with stuffing his face with food, Louis went about finding the perfect ratio of butter to pancake, and Harry started to prepare a plate for himself._

_Louis had just sliced himself a piece and popped it into his mouth when Cappie spoke again._

_“Harry, do you like boys?” He asked, voice innocently curious._

_Louis choked in surprise, smacking his chest repeatedly with his fist as Harry quickly poured and passed a glass of water to him, his forehead scrunched in worry._

_Louis waved him off, gulping down air. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He wheezed, clearing his throat._

_Harry raised an eyebrow at him, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to Cappie, who was waiting patiently for an answer._

_“Er… I do like boys, Cap, yes.” Harry answered. His tone was playful but tentative, obviously unsure where the conversation was headed. Louis noticed absently that Harry’s eyes were trained solely on Cappie, almost as if he was avoiding Louis’ gaze._

_“Like, fancy them? Or just regular like?” Cappie continued, head cocked to the side._

_Harry’s stance loosened as he seemed to regain his comfort, going back to sliding pancakes on a plate. “I fancy them.” He answered easily, smiling at Cappie._

_“Huh.” Cappie hummed thoughtfully around a mouthful of pancake. “Dad does, too. But he doesn’t fancy anyone right now.” And, had his son seriously just out-ed him to his nanny?_

_Louis’ eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he turned to Cappie, his cheeks flaming. Cappie didn’t so much as look up from his plate, chewing on obliviously._

_He felt Harry’s eyes on him then, alight with laughter._

_He looked down quickly and shoved a gigantic piece of pancake in his mouth, pretending he hadn’t heard anything._

_“He said that’s why I can’t have a sister, like I asked – because babies come from girls, and he doesn’t fancy girls. He_ thought _he fancied girls – that’s how he got me, he said – but turns out, he doesn’t.” Cappie shrugged easily, as if he hadn’t just summarized Louis’ entire sexual crisis in one run-on sentence._

_Still, Cappie pushed forward, fork still poised by his mouth. “He hasn’t really dated in a while.” He announced, cavalier._

_“O-kay, babe!” Louis nearly shrieked, patting Cappie’s cheek a little harder than necessary. Jesus, how many permutations of ‘Dad’s gay and painfully single.’ was Cappie going to spit out today? “Eat your dinner, or I’m going to!” He gritted out, through a pained smile. God, he was going to_ murder _him._

_The threat seemed to work, Cappie looking worriedly back and forth between his dad and his stack of pancakes, before swiveling his chair and shoving a whole one into his mouth._

_Louis heard Harry snort from the corner, and he looked up to see him smiling, bottom lip caught in his teeth and dimple popping out cheekily. His green eyes were dancing and playful, and Louis could almost hear the string of quips resting on his very pink tongue._

_Harry raised his eyebrow coyly and Louis ducked his head, shoveling the rest of his dinner into his mouth as fast as he could._

_…_

 

Louis’ eyes widened with recognition.

“That. Little. _Shit.”_ Louis gasped, before burying his face in his hands and groaning. “Oh my God.” He didn’t know if he was going to laugh or cry – not quite sure if it was disastrously pathetic or utterly hilarious. (Hilarious, apparently, if the incessant hooting in the room was anything to go by. Wankers.)

He popped his head out of his hands and shoved at Niall, who was cackling mercilessly.

“Jesus, why didn’t any of you _tell_ me?” He demanded, unable to fight the smile on his face.

“Because we thought it was _obvious!_ ” Liam laughed, eyes dancing with mirth. “A day after that happened, Cappie and Niall were coloring together and Cappie flat out said _‘I think dad and Harry should kiss.’_ ”

“Oh God,” Louis half-groaned, half-laughed. He wondered idly if he and Cappie were tethered or something, wondered how his son managed to know exactly what he wanted, even before Louis did. He shook his head at the absurdity of it. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Louis said, waving off the thought quickly.

He couldn’t risk entertaining the idea of pursuing Harry anymore – not after all the things he had realized last night. He knew it wasn’t going to work between them, and that was enough.

It was only when he heard Liam shriek “Why the hell not?!” that he realized he had said that last part aloud.

Louis sighed, head lolling pathetically on the back of the sofa. “Because of _reasons,_ Liam.” He huffed, dejected. “ _Millions_ of reasons – tons, even.”

“Oi, stop being such a bloody drama queen.” Niall chastised, rolling his eyes.

Louis pouted – his friends were meant to be _nice_ to him during a crisis, stupid friends.

“ _What_ reasons?” Niall demanded. “Name them.”

With a sigh, Louis recounted everything he had thought about last night. He could feel his chest grow steadily heavier, as if each word that broke past his lips was another stone dragging his poor heart to the bottom of his belly. Harry would leave – he concluded – one way or the other, and when it happened Louis would be left to salvage the pieces of his and Cappie’s hearts alone.

“See?” He finished. He felt like his chest was caving in on itself, but he ignored it. “Lots of reasons.”

Niall stared back at him flatly. “Two. Exactly _two_ reasons.”

“And both of them are stupid.” Zayn scoffed, rolling his eyes as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt lazily. It was the first thing he had said since they had left Cappie in the guest room.

Louis sat up at that. “They are _not._ ” He countered, petulantly. “He’s _dating_ someone _,_ Zayn. He’s not interested – never has been.”

_Hah! Let’s see Zayn try to explain that, if he’s so bloody clever._

“Adrian, the older, single father who Harry used to have a professional relationship with? Yeah, I _can’t imagine_ why he decided to go on a date with that guy.” Zayn challenged.

And – oh. _Oh._

“Oh.” Louis repeated, dumbly.

Zayn rolled his eyes again, and continued. “And let’s say – let’s _just_ say I’m wrong and he’s _not_ a placeholder for you – Harry went out with him _once_ , Lou, and then ditched him for Family Football with _you and your son._ ” He said the last part slowly, as if he and Louis were speaking different languages.

Louis swallowed. All the new information began to slide into his brain rapidly, clicking into place like pieces on a circuit board, hope igniting little by little.

He looked up then, his three boys looking at him expectantly.

Liam cut in from the left, voice encouraging. “I think that means you’re down to one, Lou – and I could debunk that in a second.”

And Louis wasn’t sure – didn’t know what would come next, what he would actually do if he truly ran out of reasons – but that didn’t stop him.

“Yeah?” He asked, eyes darting to Liam. His throat felt dry as he said it, felt like it was starting to fill to the brim with everything he wanted to tell Harry but couldn’t.

“You can’t save Cappie from getting hurt, Louis,” Liam said, sighing. “I know you want to, but you can’t. And if, like you said, Harry is going to leave one way or another, well… then isn’t it at least worth _trying_ to keep him?”

It was true – painfully, accurately true. There was no saving Cappie from hurt and heartbreak. It would come, and it would pass, just like everything else in life. And whether it was Louis himself who had caused it, or Harry, or Cappie’s friends, or future relationships, it didn’t really matter – so long as Louis was there to help him piece his heart back together, every single time.

For the second time in two days Louis’ mind reeled, and it felt like the floor was being pulled out from underneath him. Liam’s words bounced around in his head, strong and striking, and he felt the hope – barely a spark two seconds ago – burn low and bright in his belly.

“I have to go to Cheshire.” Louis decided, quick and easy. “I have to go to Cheshire now.”

Niall shrugged, yawning lazily and plopping back down on Louis’ lap. “Or you could just wait ‘til he gets back tomorrow. “

Louis scoffed, flicking his finger against Niall’s forehead. “Niall! You think Jack and Rose ‘waited ‘til tomorrow’ in Titanic? You think Julia Roberts ‘waited ‘til tomorrow’ in Notting Hill? You think Noah and Allie ‘waited ‘til tomorrow’ in The Notebook?!”

“Okay, for your information,” Liam cut in crossly. “Noah waited for Allie for _seven years_ , actually –“

“Of course _you_ would know that.” Louis shot back playfully. Liam stuck his tongue out at him.

“Okay, Ryan Gosling,” Niall laughed. “Where exactly _in_ Cheshire are you going to go, hmm? Do you have Harry’s address? Favorite pub? Friends’ numbers?”

And… okay, Niall _may_ have a point.

“Alright, fine.” Louis agreed, begrudgingly. “I can’t believe _none_ of you thought ahead to get that information.”

“Yes, because _of course_ we were meant to know the exact date and time you were going to pull your head out of your arse.” Zayn countered, rolling his eyes again. If he rolled them any more today, they would fall into his head.

“ _Of course_.” Louis joked, pretending to be exasperated. “You lot are useless.” A fond smile curled at the corners of his lips then, and he knew his boys understood – that was a ‘thank you’.

 

\---

 

It was later that evening, when Louis had just set out to grab sandwich supplies out of the refrigerator, that he heard it.

_Click! Roll. Click!_

His ears perked up and his eyes widened. That was the lock on his front door.

He grabbed the bread knife he had left on the counter (already smudged with mustard) and held it up near his face, breath quickening and heart pounding. If someone was going to try and rob him, they were going to walk away with at least a very jagged stab in the side.

Louis crept quietly to the doorframe of the kitchen, peeking out behind the wall. The front door was open now, the person behind it making soft, shuffling sounds. The intruder wasn’t in much of hurry, Louis noted. It actually sounded like he was… taking off his shoes…

Louis observed him for a moment, trying to figure out the best line of attack. When he saw the man set a small, red package on the hall table, he took his chance.

“I have the police on speed dial!” Louis yelled, jumping out of his hiding place and brandishing the bread knife right in the thief’s… chest. (He was taller than Louis had expected.)

Louis looked up then, and was met with two very surprised, very familiar green eyes. “Harry?!”

“Louis?!” Harry asked, eyes wide and hands held up in surrender, the house keys swaying from where they were hanging on his middle finger. “What are you doing here? I thought you and Cappie were at Liam’s?”

“What am _I_ doing here? This is my house!” Louis shrieked. “What are _you_ doing here?” He shot back, waving the knife in Harry’s face.

“For fuck’s sake, Lou – put the knife down!” Harry chastised, swatting Louis’ hand away. “You’re going to take my eye out with that thing.”

“I thought you were a thief!” Louis defended, trying to cross his arms defensively. (He couldn’t, he realized. Not with the bread knife still in his hand, so he set it down on the hall table _and then_ crossed his arms over his chest.)

“Why would a thief have keys to your front door?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes.

And… yeah, okay. That made sense.

“Don’t change the subject, Harold.” Louis said, narrowing his eyes and pointing an accusing finger at Harry’s face. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be drunk off your arse on the streets of Cheshire.”

Louis saw Harry’s expression change then – his face going from amused to nervous in a nanosecond, eyes darting around the room quickly.

“I, um.” He swallowed, fiddling with the hem on his shirt, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. “I forgot to…” He turned around then, and snatched the red box he had placed on the hall table. “This.” He finished lamely, holding it up. Louis arched an eyebrow at him and Harry seemed to realize he hadn’t explained anything at all, so he began again. “I forgot to give Cappie his present.”

“You forgot to give Cappie his present.” Louis repeated flatly. “So, you skipped this super important bachelor party, drove the three hours from Cheshire to London, and broke into my house, when you could have easily given that to Caspian tomorrow.”

“I did _not_ break into your house!” Harry huffed, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “I’ve had a set of keys for like, two years. _You_ gave them to me.”

“Not the point, Harold.” Louis said, eyes narrowing. He advanced on Harry then, pointing a finger straight at his chest. “You’re lying.” He accused, tipping his head up to glare at him. “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying!” Harry insisted, taking a step backward so there was a little more space between them. His breathing was labored, Louis noticed, like he was out of breath and his heart was pounding. “I forgot to give Cappie my present,” He repeated, eyes darting around the room. “And you know, he doesn’t have a mobile phone, so I couldn’t call him to greet him. And like, I just… I didn’t… I didn’t want him to think I forgot his birthday.” Their eyes met then, and Louis knew by the dejected way that Harry was staring back at him, that at least that last part was true.

“If you didn’t want him to think you forgot his birthday,” Louis started, advancing on Harry again. “Then you should’ve been there.”

“Louis, please.” Harry pleaded, stepping backward. “I told you…” He floundered a little, losing his balance as his back hit the door with a dull thud. Louis caught him by the elbow, a jolt of frenetic energy shocking him where they touched, but not enough for Louis to forget where the conversation was going.

“You _told_ me you couldn’t miss your mate’s party.” Louis countered, blue eyes still blazing. “But that’s clearly not true.” His voice went low, then – a little menacing, a lot angry – as he remembered the way his son’s face had crumbled in heartbreak. “Tell the truth, Harry. Tell me why you bailed on Cap, why I had to watch him cry buckets over you not coming to his party, why I had to explain to him that no, Harry is _not_ our family.”

He watched Harry’s eyes go wide at his words, a range of emotions flitting through them – guilt, sadness, then surprise, like he wasn’t expecting his absence to matter the way that it did. “I…” He started, swallowing. And then he closed his eyes, a tear sliding down his right cheek as he sighed, swiping it away angrily. He opened his eyes then, and looked at Louis, frustrated tears coating the usually kind green.

“Louis, he asked me when he was going to get to call me ‘Papa’…” He admitted, choked. The words seemed to pull the voice from Louis’ throat – shocking him in a way he didn’t think was possible.

“What?” He croaked.

“I just… I needed a little distance…” Harry continued, biting his lip. Tears were streaming steadily, quietly down his cheeks – his hands not fast enough to catch them no matter how determined he was to wipe them away.

“Oh Harry…” Louis said, his heart fracturing. He stepped forward; ready to take Harry’s face into his hands, when Harry pushed him away.

“Louis, don’t. Please.” He begged, expression broken and serious. “I never meant for you to find out. I tried so hard to hide it, but your son is just so fucking perceptive, and intelligent, and wonderful,” He laughed, watery and hollow. “Of _course_ he could tell.”

“He could… he could tell what, Harry?” Louis’ voice was barely above a whisper now. He wanted to reach out so much, wanted to touch Harry – caress his cheeks, comfort him, make him smile.

“Please don’t be cruel, Louis. Don’t make me say it.” Harry’s voice was so small – so sad and embarrassed – and Louis hated it. “It’s hard enough looking at Cappie, and loving him, and knowing I can’t… knowing I’m just the nanny.” He finished, taking a deep, jagged breath and closing his eyes.

His lip was caught harshly between his teeth, his hands curled into frustrated fists at his sides, and Louis couldn’t stand it anymore. He reached out again, cupping Harry’s cheeks in his hands. He swiped the tears away gently, smoothing his thumbs over Harry’s skin again and again, silently coaxing him to open his eyes. He had to see Louis, had to look at him and see the sincerity in his eyes when he said what he had to say.

Harry leaned into his touch then, the fight finally leaving him, and he blinked his eyes open, sad, jade orbs searching Louis’ face.

Louis melted at the sight, sighing and smiling, small and gentle. “Harry, darling.” He started. “Sweetheart. _Love._ ” He amended, letting the word roll off his tongue, coated, dripping with all the things he wanted to say. “How could you ever, _ever_ think that that was all you are?”

Harry’s eyes widened just a little – forehead still creased with confusion – afraid to misunderstand. So, Louis clarified.

“Oh God, baby.” He sighed, the endearment flying out of his lips involuntarily. Naturally. Right. “I should have told you. Every time I said I couldn’t live without you, I should have told you that I didn’t _want_ to.” His eyes searched Harry’s face, looking for signs that Harry understood, that he got it.

Though his face was less afraid, it was still tentative, so Louis moved forward, closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Harry’s, the tips of their noses touching.

“I should have told you how much I love you. How _in love_ I am with you.” He breathed.

He heard Harry gasp, small and surprised.

“Really?” He asked, quiet and disbelieving.

The sweet amazement in his tone made Louis smile wider. This man – with all his good looks, all his charm, all his kind warmth – was still completely shocked that Louis was head over heels in love with him. God, Harry was _so wonderful._

“ _Really_ , really.” Louis confirmed, chuckling. He pulled away just enough to meet Harry’s eyes.

“But you never…” Harry argued.

“Neither did you.” Louis countered, though there was no heat in his voice. He dragged his thumb down the line of Harry’s jaw. Harry hadn’t said ‘I love you’ back – not in so many words – but now that Louis’ feelings were out there, he would touch him until Harry told him to stop.

“I was scared.” Harry whispered, like it was a secret. “What if you didn’t feel the same way, and I ruined this?” He gestured behind Louis to their surroundings. “What if you _did_ , and I ruined it anyway? What if I never got to see Cappie again? I didn’t – I _don’t_ – want to hurt Cappie or _you,_ ever.” He covered the hand Louis had resting on his jaw with his own.

And it hit Louis right in the heart, the way that Harry had mentioned Cappie before Louis. The way Cappie came first, always, to Harry.

“I don’t want to lose this.” Harry finished, eyes shining with worry.

Louis laughed, small but bright.

“It’s not going to happen, Harry.” He said, sure and absolutely confident. “God, you love Cap _so much_ that you picked him over me. You picked him over _yourself._ ” He chuckled, incredulous. “I’m never going to find anyone like you ever again. I’m never going to _love_ anyone like you, ever again.”

Louis watched the last of Harry’s disbelief dissipate from his eyes, replaced instead by something determined, happy.

“I’m in love with you, Louis.” Harry breathed. His smile was bashful, but his words were sure. “I love you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Louis hummed, nodding. He moved closer slowly, dragging the tip of his nose against Harry’s – up and down, up and down – smile growing as he noticed Harry subtly tipping his head to give Louis access to his mouth. “So, can I kiss you now?” Louis asked, smirking cheekily.

“Yes, please.” Harry half-gasped.

At that, Louis dragged his nose slowly across Harry’s left cheek and then pressed his lips softly against it. He moved lower next, and left another gentle smack on his dimple. Another peck on the corner of his lips, already turned up in a smile and then finally – _finally_ – he covered Harry’s mouth with his own.

As he pecked at Harry’s soft pink lips tenderly, over and over, he thought to himself, This. _This_ was everything a kiss ought to be. It felt like the first drink of water after a long drought – fresh, and sweet, and not nearly enough – and he only allowed himself small sips, afraid it would disappear, that it was a figment of his imagination. He wanted more, more, _always more_ – he wanted to _drown_ in Harry.

He slid his tongue gently across the seam of Harry’s lips, coaxing them open, asking for permission that Harry readily gave – parting his lips ever so slightly to let Louis in. Louis felt heat simmer at the bottom of his belly as Harry’s soft breath mingled with his own, his tongue curling gently against the roof of Harry’s mouth. They kissed exactly like they had met – tentative at first, learning about each other in small, thoughtful gestures – dancing, curling, molding against each other until they were intertwined, wholly and completely.

He felt it as Harry tangled his fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck, heard Harry whimper, quiet and needy, and arousal sparked like lightning zinging straight up his spine. Slowly, he crowded Harry up against the door, his hand moving to grasp him firmly by the hips, holding him in place.

 _Mine. Mine. Mine._ He thought, greedily.

Harry let out a moan that Louis swallowed hungrily, and the kiss turned desperate. Harry licked at Louis’ teeth, bit and laved at his bottom lip incessantly before pulling at it roughly, and sucking it into his mouth. Louis groaned then, pressing his fingers into Harry’s soft skin, grounding himself with it.

As Louis ventured downward, biting and sucking, he felt Harry’s throat vibrate against his lips, his voice low and rough.

“Louis,” He gasped, fingers tightening in Louis’ hair. “Lou, where’s – ah! – where’s Cappie? We can’t – oh. _Oh._ ” Louis smiled against the creamy skin, swirling his tongue and trying his damnedest to keep Harry from completing a sentence. “We can’t do _this_ with him in the h-house.”

“Mm.” Louis mumbled, nipping at the dip between Harry’s neck and his shoulder, already running his thumb against the skin above his jeans. “You’re right, you’re _so_ right.” He agreed, nodding once from where he was busy buried in Harry’s neck. “I’ll put him up for adoption tomorrow.”

“ _Lou-is!_ ” Harry giggled, shoving softly at his shoulder. “I’m – ohhh. I’m serious!”

Louis dragged his nose up Harry’s neck, smirking cheekily when Harry gasped at the soft nip on his earlobe. “He fell asleep at Liam’s.” He murmured into Harry’s ear. “Lads’ll take him out for birthday breakfast tomorrow.”

He felt Harry smile then, and he pulled Louis away from his neck just to seal their lips together again – longer, deeper, hungrier than before – and Louis thought to himself, Nothing. Nothing in the _world_ tasted as good as Harry Styles did.

He pulled away from the searing kiss, inhaling sharply as he rested his forehead against Harry’s. “Should we –“ He sucked in a breath, heart pounding steadily in his chest. “We can take this slow, Harry.” He said, though the arousal he was feeling was already igniting, sparking and sizzling in his nerves. “I can take you out. I can… cook you dinner? If you – if you want.”

Louis looked up to find Harry’s eyes dancing with mirth.

“That’s sweet,” he said, running a thumb against Louis’ jaw. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before he crooned, “But any slower and we’ll be moving backwards.”

Louis threw his head back, the laughter jumping out of him. “Fair enough.” He agreed. They kissed, slow and deep, Louis taking Harry’s hand in his own as he tugged him towards the stairs.

They stumbled up the steps and made it to the bedroom, Louis kicking the door shut soundly behind him before another make-out session commenced, this time with Louis’ back against the bedroom door. His fingers traced Harry’s collarbones, skimming across them lightly before his hands flew down the buttons of Harry’s shirt, popping them open with ease.

He pushed Harry backward, trailing hot kisses down his torso, and Harry threw his head back in pleasure as Louis tweaked at his nipple. Louis nosed down Harry’s stomach gently, from his navel to the waistband of his jeans, before he bent down and gave Harry’s bulging crotch a small, teasing kiss through the fabric.

“Lube. Condoms. Now.” Harry breathed out harshly, pulling Louis up quickly, flipping him around and grasping him by the hips, marching him towards his nightstand.

Louis giggled, fumbling around the catchall for his key as Harry peppered kisses on the back of his neck. His head popped up quickly, peering over Louis’ shoulder as he watched him insert the key into the lock.

“Do you honestly have a _lock_ on your _sex drawer_?” He laughed, incredulous. “ _Why?!_ ” He asked, hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis turned his head, smiling blue eyes meeting happy green. “Because I have a very curious seven-year-old,” He explained, smirking. “And I _do not_ want a repeat of that time Liam had to explain to his godson why he wasn’t sharing the ‘colorful, round candies’ he was keeping in his drawer.” (“There are tons of flavors, dad. A lot of them are banana…”)

Harry buried his nose in Louis’ neck then, giggling uncontrollably. “Oh my _God.”_

Louis laughed too, pulling the drawer open and rooting around in it for supplies. He felt Harry pull away, could see him smirking from the corner of his eye.

“Why can’t you keep it on a high shelf, like every other responsible parent?” He asked. “Oh, is it because _you_ won’t be able to reach it?” He teased, grinning mischievously.

“Ha, bloody ha, Harold.” Louis rolled his eyes and shook his head fondly. “You know, trash talk and dirty talk don’t have _quite_ the same effect in bed.”

Louis was poised to laugh at his own joke when he felt Harry’s hot breath right by his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, goosebumps prickling his skin.

“Is that what you like?” Harry crooned, smirking. “Do you want me to tell you _all_ the things I imagined you doing to me, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis’ eyes widened at the moniker, and his laugh died swiftly in his throat. He felt all the blood in his body rush south, his already plump cock fattening at Harry’s words. Harry ran a knuckle lightly against his erection, teasing him as he nibbled on his earlobe.

“Do you want to know,” Harry whispered slowly, low and sexy. “How many times I wanted to drop to my knees just for _you_?”

He felt Harry shift, just enough for Louis to feel the hard line of his cock against his arse. Louis closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, willing himself with every fiber of his being not to come right then and there.

“How _desperate_ ,” Harry continued, his tongue seeming to caress the word obscenely. “I am for you to _fuck_ me?” He punctuated the sentence with a mischievous chuckle, and a small kiss right behind Louis’ ear.

 _I’m dead._ Louis decided. _I’ve been run over by a bus, I’m dead, and this is heaven._ (He was strangely okay with that. Liam and Niall would take good care of his son for him, he was sure.)

He felt Harry’s large hand cup the front of his jeans, just shy of too rough, and he groaned long and loud at the delicious sensation.

“I wanna _please_ you, Louis. Let me please you.” Harry begged eagerly, voice ragged and broken, like _he_ was painfully turned on by all the filthy things he was saying. God, this man was so perfect Louis could cry.

Louis nodded his head jerkily, barely in control of his own movements.

“Yes,” he hissed. “ _God,_ yes.” He quickly tossed the lube and condoms behind him, not giving a damn if they actually landed on the bed or not. As far as he was concerned, every moment he wasn’t inside Harry Styles was an absolute _waste._ He might never do anything productive, ever again.

He swiveled to face Harry, capturing his lips in a messy kiss – teeth and tongue, and no finesse at all – as he backed them steadily onto the bed. Harry laughed as Louis pushed him onto the mattress, bouncing lightly. He scooted to the edge of the bed, grasping Louis’ hips possessively as Louis pulled his own shirt over his head.

He felt Harry’s hot breath on every new patch of his exposed skin, kiss after kiss after hot kiss on his belly, on his navel, above the waistband of his jeans, just as Harry popped the button open. Harry stared up at him, doe-eyes peeking out from under his lashes, wide and deceptively innocent as he hooked his thumb in Louis’ jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers, and tossing the offending clothing to the floor behind them with a boyish smirk.

Louis stared down at Harry, utterly dumbstruck, as he took Louis’ cock in his hands and kissed the head gently, giving the tip one, sweet little lick – all while keeping his eyes trained on Louis’.

“Who even _are_ you?” Louis asked, completely bewildered.

Harry only laughed, helping as Louis made quick work of divesting him of his own jeans.

Louis’ mouth began to water when he first laid eyes on Harry’s cock – hard, and pink, and pretty – as it sprung free from his boxers. Harry was an absolute vision; soft curls falling over his face, naked but for the black, sheer shirt that had slipped delicately off his shoulders.

“Leave it on.” Louis instructed firmly.

He watched as Harry smirked, coy and sexy, his perfect dimple indenting his cheek like the finishing touch of a masterpiece. Louis could hardly believe he was allowed to kiss him, touch him, _ravish_ him.

Harry spread his legs invitingly, Louis settling in between them. He coated his fingers in lube and began suckling gently at the head of Harry’s cock as he pushed one finger in his hole. Harry moaned obscenely at the sensation, throwing his head back on the pillow, fists curled around the sheets like he was clinging on for dear life.

“More.” He begged, breathing harshly through his nose. “More, Louis. _More._ ”

And, who was Louis to deny Harry anything?

He slipped in a second finger, and then another, fucking Harry with them with long, slow strokes. He sucked steadily at the tip of Harry’s cock as Harry rocked back and forth, back and forth, between his mouth and his fingers. Louis was completely delirious with the smell, the taste of Harry, lapping at his cock hungrily, desperate for it.

Finally Harry sat up, expression completely wrecked and wanton, pulling Louis off his cock with a pop, and kissing him _hard._

“I want to _ride you_.” Harry confessed into his mouth, smiling bashfully as he blinked at Louis, a soft flush dusting his cheeks.

Louis swallowed harshly, his heart banging so hard against his ribcage, that it felt like it was valiantly trying to escape – trying to propel itself out of his chest and into Harry’s hands, for him to do with it whatever he pleased.

He was sure then, that Harry had ruined him for all other men – that this was _it_ , the _best_ he was ever going to get in this life – and he honestly couldn’t have dreamt up anyone better. He was sure he could live a thousand different lives as a thousand greater people – Shakespeare, Stephen Hawking, Neil Armstrong – and still choose this one, the one with his son, and with Harry.

Louis nodded, and scrambled onto the bed as quickly as he could. He laid down; head propped on a pillow, and watched as Harry carefully rolled a condom onto his cock. Harry straddled him then, and placed both hands on Louis’ chest, lowering himself onto Louis ever so slowly.

Louis moaned ridiculously loudly the moment he felt his tip press into Harry’s tight heat, biting his cheek to keep from screaming in pleasure.

“Oh my _God!_ ” He groaned, low and guttural. “Oh, God, _baby_.”

He grasped Harry by the hips, guiding him gently until he bottomed out, Harry letting out an ‘ah!’ as Louis’ balls hit his arse with a loud _slap!_

Heat sizzled, low and hungry in Louis’ stomach as Harry began to move. He was tentative at first, slipping up and down in shy, shallow movements, before he completely lost himself, rising and falling on Louis in long, swift strokes.

“Yes,” He hissed, head thrown back in ecstasy as he pleasured himself on Louis’ cock. “Oh my – mmm. Ah! Ah! Ah!” His nails dug into Louis’ chest, leaving small crescent moon shapes on his skin.

Louis sat up then, holding Harry roughly by the waist and meeting his hips with small, circular thrusts.

“Jesus Chr –“ Harry choked, biting his lip.

He tipped his head down at Louis, sealing their lips together with a chaotic kiss, their open mouths not doing much more than resting against each other as Harry’s bounces started to become faster, shallower, messier. Louis could feel the pressure building steadily in his belly, each rise and fall of Harry’s body pushing it to a hilt.

“God, I love you.” He whispered into Harry’s neck then, punctuating it with small kisses as Harry threw his head back in ecstasy.

“Mmm.” Harry hummed in reply, and with one more solid thrust, Harry was screaming into the night, shooting his load onto Louis’ stomach. Louis fucked Harry through it, fast and rough, chasing his own orgasm until the tension in him finally snapped. Louis’ eyes rolled into the back of his head, come pulsing white and hot into the condom.

They stayed that way for a while – caught in each other’s embrace, breathing raggedly into the quiet of the bedroom – until they both crumpled onto the bed, exhausted by the sheer volume of emotions they had set free that night.

After they had cleaned up, Harry snuggled himself under Louis’ chin, and Louis buried his nose in Harry’s hair. Sweet, soft silence enveloped them, and Louis felt a wave of complete and utter contentment wrap itself around his heart. He thought back to this morning, and then to everything – every hot meal Harry had cooked, every Family Football day, every hug and kiss and ‘I love you, Captain.’ he had heard in the last three years – and he smiled, wide and unabashed into Harry’s curls.

“I think I’ve always loved you.” He whispered easily. He had no idea now, why that thought had ever scared him – why he would have ever chosen to walk away from this.

He felt Harry grin against his neck, and press a small kiss on his Adam’s apple. “I’m always going to love you.” He murmured back.

 

\---

 

Louis was lured from sleep by hunger at two in the morning, and when he opened his eyes, it was to an empty bed. He froze, dread seeping into his heart, cold and ice-like. Had he… had he dreamt all that? He asked himself, wide-eyed and panicked. Had none of those things actually happened?

And then, he heard it – soft, dulcet tones filtering through the air from downstairs.

Louis jumped out of bed. He grabbed a pair of boxers he found on the floor and shoved them onto his hips, stumbling down the stairs in an attempt to prove last night had been real. As he reached the bottom landing, he saw the soft, yellow light of the kitchen, the air smelling sweet and delicious, and he let out a sigh of relief.

_It was real._

The warmth of the kitchen called to him as it always did, but as he walked to the entrance, he didn’t stop to lean in the doorway like he would have yesterday.

Instead, he padded up to the gorgeous man flipping pancakes behind the kitchen island, and wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his nose in the nape of his neck. He inhaled the familiar scent of his kitchen, his home on Harry’s skin, and his heart soared for the first time in a long while.

“I made your favorite.” Harry murmured, smiling. He didn’t turn around, but Louis could hear the way those green eyes were twinkling, dancing and happy.

“ _You’re_ my favorite.” Louis crooned, nuzzling his nose into the dip between Harry’s neck and his shoulder. “I love you.” He said, just because he could. He felt Harry’s stomach muscles jump under his hands, as if his belly had flipped so hard that Louis could feel it through his shirt.

“You’ll make me drop the pancakes.” Harry reprimanded through a smile.

“Don’t care.” Louis said, pulling him closer. He tiptoed, and took a little whiff over Harry’s shoulder. “Okay, I care a little.”

Harry giggled in his arms, shaking his head fondly. They stayed like that for a moment, rocking back and forth together, things entirely different and yet, somehow, the same.

Harry spoke first. “What are we going to tell Cappie? When I quit my job?” He asked, biting his lip.

Louis sighed, burying his face into Harry’s shoulder. “Do you really have to quit?”

Harry turned his head to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Yes, Lou. I hear it’s frowned upon to sleep with your boss.” He joked, chuckling.

Louis tipped his head back and nipped at Harry’s earlobe playfully. “I promise I won’t tell if you won't.” He crooned, teasing.

He felt Harry try to suppress a shiver in his arms, and he placed a small, wet kiss on his neck, pulling the skin into his mouth just a little.

“Louis,” Harry gasped. “I’m serious!”

Louis stopped his ministrations and sighed into Harry’s sweet skin. There was a lot they had to discuss, that was for sure. Louis knew things couldn’t go back to the way they were - it wouldn’t be fair to Cappie or Harry to muddle their relationship. But he really, _really_ didn’t want to think about it now – didn’t want to think about not coming home to Harry everyday, didn’t want Cappie and Harry to be apart.

“Don’t leave.” He whimpered uselessly, pulling Harry closer to him. “Please don’t leave.”

He didn’t expect the light chuckle that escaped from Harry’s lips, and he popped his head up as Harry twisted around in his arms.

“I’m only leaving my job.” Harry soothed, taking Louis’ face in his hands, and leaning his forehead on Louis’. Harry ran the tip of his nose gently against Louis’ smiling sweetly. “Leave you and Cappie?” He asked, holding his grinning lips just a nanometer away. “Never.”

 

 The End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the masterpost for this fic [here](https://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com/post/162085170764/barefoot-in-blue-jeans-by-indiaalphawhiskey). Please come say hi on [tumblr](https://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com/), I'd love to make friends!


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